Candles
by My Dear Professor McGonagall
Summary: Birthday stories for all of our favorite canon characters. August: Godric Gryffindor, Ginny Weasley, Fleur Delacour, Percy Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, Susan Bones, and Lucy Weasley.
1. Severus Snape (1975)

So funny story...I've been planning on doing this piece for ages and ages...and then I made the exact mistake that I wrote about in here. How very appropriate. XD hahahaha so I'm sorry that I forgot Snape's birthday, but you know what?! SO DID LILY! SO THERE.

See you tomorrow AND the next day for Lily's and Narcissa's/Scorpius's birthdays!

Also, please please PLEASE give me names that you would like to see included. I've got all the Weasley grandkids in here and a lot of the Hogwarts folk, but I want suggestions! So far my calendars are very sadly bare! Any character you can think of, weird and random as you please!

Lucy

* * *

29 January 1975

Severus sat by himself at the table in the back corner of the library, his nose buried deep in his Potions book. He was determined that he would get an Outstanding on his O.W.L., and though the exam was more than a year away, and Professor Slughorn had assured him time and time again that he had nothing to worry about, Severus only became more driven to do well. With top work in Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration, he would stand out…and then, perhaps, Lucius would make good on his promise to connect Severus with his new crowd of friends…

Which, if Severus was honest with himself, he was seriously lacking nowadays. Lily had not come back from the holidays. Her father had been very ill for almost two years, and three weeks ago, on his birthday, Severus had received a letter from her telling him that her father had died.

Tomorrow was her fifteenth birthday.

He had glimpsed her at breakfast this morning, her first one back at Hogwarts. She had looked terribly ill and tired herself, but was talking with some of her Gryffindor friends. He didn't want to speak to them, so he'd hidden himself off in the library, deciding that he'd see her after Potions tomorrow afternoon.

"Happy birthday."

He almost leapt out of his seat, he was so startled by Lily's arrival. She wasn't smiling, but looked regretful.

"I forgot your birthday," she whispered, sitting down to join him and checking over her shoulder for Madam Pince. "Sev, I'm so sorry—I didn't even realize it until last night—I forgot it completely!"

Severus blinked; she looked almost at the point of tears. "N-no, it's—it's all right, it doesn't—"

"Of course it matters," she told him, taking his hand gently. "You're fifteen, and I'm supposed to be your best friend! I'm so, so sorry, Severus."

"Lily," he said, stunned, "You've—you've had some things—on your mind, you know, it's—it's not your fault—"

Lily looked down at the table and pulled her hands away, looking to a nearby bookshelf for a moment. "I didn't even get you a present," she mumbled, her voice catching in her throat.

And Severus was seized by a sudden desire to throw his arms around her, to hug her, to promise her that he would always, always be there for her—but he didn't dare. He didn't even dare touch her hand the way she had touched his, though it lay only inches away on the table.

She sniffled suddenly and wiped a tear from her cheek, hitching a smile onto her face. "Look," she said, "It's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up—I didn't want to go, but…I'd go with you. Just the two of us? I'll buy you your birthday present, you can pick out anything you like."

Severus's heart leapt into his throat, pounding erratically. "Y-yeah—yeah, Lily, I'd—I'd love that! I know some places where it won't be too crowded, too, so you don't have to—see anyone you don't want to see."

She sniffled again and patted his arm; the spot where her hand lay burned. "Thanks, Sev. You're a really great friend," she said quietly.

Severus wondered if Lily noticed the way his heart plummeted straight back down, through the stone floors, and into the deepest dungeon in the castle.

She didn't seem to. She had gotten up and was picking up her bag. She turned an exhausted, sad smile on him.

"Think about what you want your present," she told him. "The sky's the limit, I promise."

And she walked away, leaving Severus alone.


	2. Lily Evans Potter (1980)

30 January 1980

"Knock it off," Lily hissed, elbowing James in the ribs. He and Sirius, who was seated next to him on his other side, immediately stopped trying to stomp on each other's feet, looking shamefaced.

She rolled her eyes, catching Remus's gaze; he was on Sirius's other side, and smirked, shaking his head. Peter was absent tonight, on a mission with Frank and Alice Longbottom.

They had all been in this Order meeting for hours. At first, it had just been waiting for everyone to arrive. Mad-Eye had been late, and people had become extremely worried, but he had turned up at last. He had been hot on the trail of a group of Death Eaters and had, apparently, been involved in quite the duel with Bellatrix Lestrange (or so he thought, as she seemed to be the only female Death Eater the Order had any intelligence on) near a Muggle house that she and the others, who had fled, had been planning on attacking.

She had only barely escaped Mad-Eye's wand, and he was furious that he hadn't managed to unmask her and confirm her identity.

This story had immediately stunned everyone into silence except for James and Sirius, who immediately began praising Mad-Eye as a kind of demi-god until he had threatened to jinx them beyond recognition. Then the meeting had begun, and for almost two hours, everyone had been handing in reports on the tailing of known and suspected Death Eaters.

Lily gazed over at the window. It had started snowing gently.

"…And I think that pretty much confirms it, if nothing else does," said Fabian Prewett, shrugging. His twin brother nodded. "I say we add Dolohov to the confirmed list."

"He might be a foreigner, but he's definitely sympathetic with a lot of the known Death Eaters," said Gideon.

Dumbledore's brow creased, and he folded his long fingers. "I think you are correct, Mr. Prewett, though I find it troubling that Voldemort has extended his reach beyond our borders." He looked pensive for a moment, and a pall seemed to settle over the table. Lily squeezed James's hand beneath the table.

Then, Dumbledore's expression cleared. "I think, if that is all, we may conclude this meeting. Minerva?"

Professor McGonagall, who sat on his right, shook her head. "I'd like to get back to the castle," she said. "Oh, Albus—"

"I've forgotten," he said, nodding. He addressed the table. "I wish to make a request of anyone who is willing to volunteer."

Lily looked at James, seated beside her, and Sirius, who was next to him. They had both tensed, like dogs on a scent. She almost laughed; she could practically see Sirius's tail wagging.

"Amelia Bones has more information regarding Augustus Rookwood—the Ministry worker whom Lily and Emmeline so dutifully followed in December," said Dumbledore, giving Lily a courteous nod. "It seems to Amelia that she was incorrect about the Imperius Curse, but that Rookwood could be acting of his own accord, passing information from within the Ministry—in which case, we are compelled to put a stop to it."

He looked at Lily again, and suddenly, she had the distinct impression that he was seeing straight through her. Unconsciously, she moved her hands to rest on her very slightly rounded belly, hidden beneath her robes.

Dumbledore continued, "I should hate to ask it of Lily and Emmeline again, if only for their safety—they could be recognized. Would anyone else be interested in following Mr. Rookwood one evening this week?"

"We'll do it," said Sirius at once, gesturing between himself, Remus, and James, whom he faced. "Right?"

"Er," said James, glancing at Lily, who nodded furtively; most of the rest of the others at the table were eyeing them oddly. "Sure," he told Dumbledore. "Be happy to."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, clapping his hands together. "I'd like to see all three of you for a moment—the rest of you, thank you. Be safe."

With murmurs of goodbye and hurried handshakes, the knot of people clustered around the dingy table broke apart.

"Happy birthday, Lily," said Emmeline Vance, hurrying over and giving her a quick hug. "I can't stay, I'm afraid, but here—" and she handed Lily a small, wrapped gift. "Are you doing anything special?"

"Oh, Emmeline, thank you," Lily said happily. "I—I think the boys are going to come over…it'll be quiet, definitely," she added, nodding over at James, Sirius, and Remus, who were deep in conversation with McGonagall and Dumbledore.

Emmeline smiled rather sympathetically. "Well, maybe your next one won't be so dreary," she said.

Lily nodded. "Thanks for the gift."

"Of course," Emmeline said, winking. "I'll see you at the next meeting, dear."

Lily waved, then turned around. Aberforth was just stumping past. He gave her a grunt and disappeared down the staircase to the pub, closing the door behind him. Lily wandered over to where James, Sirius, and Remus were still talking to McGonagall and Dumbledore.

"That will be fine, then," Dumbledore was saying. "I'd like a report as soon as possible."

"Tomorrow night?" James asked, wrapping an arm around Lily. "Mind if I'm out with these two?"

She smirked. "Oh, I suppose."

"Did you two have a fight or something? James is being very husband-y," said Sirius, as though it was something catching.

Lily turned bright red. "No," she said, a little too quickly. Remus frowned at her, and even Sirius looked a little skeptical. She was about to play it off, when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dumbledore exchange a look with Professor McGonagall. She took James's wrist and turned him away slightly, leaning close to his ear. "They know," she whispered. "Dumbledore knows."

James's eyes bugged. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "We might as well…"

"What is wrong with you two?" Sirius demanded, looking very confused.

"Is everything all right?" asked Remus.

Lily turned around. "I…I guess it's going to come out…soon, anyway," she said, catching Professor McGonagall's eye. She was frowning seriously. Lily took James's hand, linking their fingers, and looked straight at Dumbledore. "I…I have to request that…that I limit my field work, Professor. I—I'm pregnant."

Professor McGonagall clapped her hands over her mouth. _"What?"_

"Bloody _hell!"_ said Sirius loudly.

Remus had turned white. "You're what?"

Lily's chin trembled slightly as she met Dumbledore's gaze unblinkingly. He was beaming as though this was the greatest news he had ever received. He opened his arms, and a moment later, Lily was stunned to find herself being hugged by Albus Dumbledore.

"Congratulations," he murmured in her ear. "I couldn't be happier for you both."

Lily tightened her hold on him. "Thank you," she whispered back, feeling her tears spill over. She pulled back, just in time to receive another hug from Professor McGonagall.

"I can't believe it!" she said, taking Lily's hands. "This is wonderful—absolutely wonderful—I just can't believe it!"

"Yeah, neither can I," said Sirius, looking utterly dumbfounded. He hugged Lily. "Can you imagine what Peter's going to say? He might cry." James and Remus laughed.

"Oh, be nice," she said, shoving his shoulder. She wiped more tears away. "Besides, no reaction will beat the one James had when I told him," she added, giggling.

"What did he do?" Remus asked curiously.

"Oh, Lily, don't you dare," James said, going pale. "_Lily."_

"Dare, dare!" Sirius insisted.

Lily looked at Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore, who were watching all of this with interested expressions on their faces.

"He fainted," she said brightly, and Remus and Sirius fell onto each other, barely able to stand as they howled with laughter. Professor McGonagall stifled a chuckle behind her hand.

"I had the _flu_! It wasn't my _fault_!" James insisted, as Professor Dumbledore clapped him bracingly on the shoulder, shaking his head in amusement.


	3. Narcissa & Scorpius Malfoy (2006)

I hate cramming three of these together, but Narcissa always struck me as a very January sort of person, and so does Scorpius (at least the way I imagine him)... hahaha and yes, if you were wondering, I think of people in terms of what month they most remind me of. XD

* * *

31 January 2006

Narcissa closed her eyes, bringing her hands to rest under her chin. Lucius rubbed her back in small circles. She looked sideways at him. "How can you be so calm?" she asked in a strangled whisper.

He turned a page of the newspaper in his lap. "Because there is nothing I can do to help by worrying."

"You might show a little feeling, this is _your_ grandchild, too," she snapped, standing up from the waiting area sofa and pacing in a circle.

Lucius folded his paper and looked up at her, his expression somewhat apologetic. "I didn't say that I wasn't worried," he told her. "But I believe it was _you_, Narcissa Malfoy, who told me on a lovely day in June almost twenty-five years ago that this sort of thing takes as long as it takes, and there is no getting around it."

Narcissa paused, frowning at him. "You really remember that?"

One corner of his mouth lifted in her favorite smile. "I remember that day very clearly," he said, holding out one hand. "I think that's the happiest I've ever been with you."

She took his hand, smiling as well, and came to sit down again. "Me, too."

"Personally, I like the little fellow's timing," said Lucius, reaching a hand into his pocket.

"Or lady," Narcissa said. "It could be a girl."

Lucius rolled his eyes, producing a flat velvet box. "Would you like your birthday present, or not?"

"Lucius," she said happily, taking it. "Oh—thank you!" She kissed his cheek.

"I was going to give it to you at dinner," he said, smiling again, "But I'm not certain that's going to happen. Happy birthday, Narcissa."

She opened the box to reveal a beautiful bracelet of pebble-sized garnets. "Oh, _Lucius_," she gasped. "It's—it's spectacular."

He took it and began fastening it around her wrist. "What better way to mark the birth of our first grandchild?" he asked.

She scoffed. "You couldn't have known _that_ was going to happen today." She leaned in and kissed him. "But thank you."

He nodded. "Now may I read my paper in peace?"

Narcissa elbowed him. "If you must." She took a deep breath. "I just want to hear that she's fine, and the baby's arrived—"

"Potter, please, here for Healer Washburn?"

"Have a seat, the Healer will be with you shortly."

"Thank you."

Lucius's eyes had slid out of focus; he was staring blankly at the wall straight ahead of him, his newspaper forgotten. Narcissa stiffened in her seat and turned slowly to look around at the people who had just arrived in the Maternity Ward waiting area.

It had been about eight years since the last time she had seen Harry Potter—_seen_ him, she thought with a laugh. That was one thing to call it. But right now, his face was not the one that transfixed hers, nor the face of his pregnant wife—a Weasley, she knew—nor even their little boy, about one year old, who squirmed in his father's arms.

She was staring at the other boy—eight years old, if she wasn't mistaken, though he was tall for his age—who was not a Potter at all. This was the Lupin boy, the child of the werewolf and her only niece—her sister's grandson.

He was handsome, very much so, as he giggled with Mrs. Potter, who was allowing him to feel the baby move in her belly. But for the turquoise hair he sported, (was he a Metamorphmagus, then, like his mother?) he looked like a Black, Narcissa realized. Even Bellatrix wouldn't have denied it.

Well, possibly.

Potter had seen Narcissa looking at his family. He nudged his wife's arm, and she looked around, her eyes widening for a moment.

Narcissa felt her cheeks flush, but didn't break her gaze. She was suddenly painfully aware of Lucius, who was pointedly ignoring them. It was so strange—_so_ strange—to see her great-nephew (was that what he was? Merlin's beard…), one of the last few living descendants of the Blacks, in the company of the man whose existence had ended the power of families like that—like _hers_.

"Mrs. Potter?" A nurse had come to see them, and Narcissa looked away at last. "Healer Washburn will see you now, if you'll follow me."

Potter needed to help his wife to her feet, and she took the older boy's hand. "Come on, Ted," she said, in a curiously loud voice.

_Ted_, Narcissa thought. He was named after Andromeda's husband, was he? She felt winded, as though she had just run a long distance. She heard a sudden cough and looked up again. Potter was staring at her, his infant son babbling at him in his arms.

Their eyes met for a long moment, and then Potter gave her a nod. He walked away after his wife.

Lucius's hand closed tightly over hers. She could tell that he thought himself supportive, that he believed she felt uncomfortable because of Potter's rudeness in staring back at her. If only he knew, Narcissa thought, lifting a hand to rub her face, not that she would ever dare to tell him. How could she suddenly feel so tired?

"Mother? Father?"

Narcissa looked up at once. Draco looked shocked, white to the lips, but he was visibly thrilled. "Oh, Draco!" She leapt to her feet and threw her arms around his neck.

He pulled back after a moment. "It's a boy," he said, still looking very startled. "And—wow, he can—he can really cry. He's really healthy, everything's great."

Lucius clapped his hands happily. "Congratulations!"

"And Astoria?" Narcissa asked.

"She's completely fine, but she's really tired. She wants you to come and meet him before she falls asleep," he said, taking her hand. "Come on."

Narcissa put a hand over her heart, beaming over her shoulder at Lucius, who smiled back at her. Draco led them down the corridor to one of the private suites. Astoria lay in the bed with a small blue bundle in her arms, smiling in a dazed, exhausted way.

"I hope you don't mind sharing your birthday, Narcissa," she said tiredly, as Draco came around the bed and lifted the baby out of her arms, bringing him to Narcissa. "This is Scorpius."

The little face crinkled, and the baby grunted, sticking one hand out from his blankets as he yawned up at Narcissa and Lucius. And quite suddenly, unexpectedly, tears filled Narcissa's eyes. She held out one finger, and the little hand closed on it.


	4. Luna Lovegood (1993)

Happy birthday, Luna Lu!

* * *

3 February 1993

Luna hummed to herself, sucking on a sugar quill as she wandered down the rows of books; she had finished all of her homework for the week, had practiced all of her new spells, and had decided that her reward would be finding something new to read.

For her birthday, her father had sent her a large package full of sweets, chocolate, a copy of this month's issue of the _Quibbler, _and a wide variety of his homemade charms. Her favorite was the pair of earrings he had made her out of dirigible plums, closely followed by the ten new butterbeer corks to add to her collection. She was looking forward to taking an afternoon off to read with her treats, perhaps up in the Astronomy Tower.

Then, quite suddenly, as she rounded a tight corner down a narrow alley of shelves, she heard a loud sniffle. She paused, looking around. Almost no one ventured this far back into the maze of the library, mostly because they could never find their way out again.

"Hello?" Luna said curiously, peering around. She took a few steps down the aisle. "Is there someone there?" As a half-blood, she knew she was in no danger, despite the attacks that had been happening all year. Furthermore, she had noticed that the attacks only ever seemed to occur in large, open places, so whatever Slytherin's famous monster was (and she had her theories), it couldn't fit into confined areas like the library.

There was a rustling up ahead, and another sniffle. Luna frowned slightly. "Hello?"

A bright red head popped out from behind a stack of books. "Oh," said a stuffed-up voice, "I—I didn't know anyone would—be here."

"Hi, Ginny," said Luna kindly. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Ginny replied hurriedly, trying to squeeze past her. "I—I should get back to Gryffindor Tower—"

"Would you like a licorice wand?" Luna pulled one out of her pocket and offered it to her.

Ginny stopped trying to get away and looked at her warily. "Thanks," she said slowly. She sniffed, wiping her nose with her hand. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her brilliantly red hair was disheveled. She had obviously been crying.

Luna put a hand on her arm. "Are you sure you're all right? You seem rather upset."

Ginny nodded. "I'm fine—just—something stupid," she said, looking away. Luna, however, felt a sudden wave of deep unease; a shadow seemed to pass over Ginny's face.

She reached into her pocket and offered Ginny another licorice wand, which she declined, so Luna took a bite. "Is it something I can help you with? I'd like to, if I can."

Ginny seemed very surprised. "N-no, Loony—Luna, sorry—sorry, I'm so sorry!" she gasped. "Really, I didn't mean—"

Luna smiled benignly, shrugging; if anyone genuinely didn't mean to call her names, she had a feeling it would be Ginny. "That's all right. You can call me that if you like. Are you sure I can't help you?"

Ginny gaped at her. "No…no, you can't…but thank you, Luna." She smiled tremulously. "Thanks a lot."

"Of course," she replied. She reached into her pocket yet again and pulled out a sugar quill. They were her favorite, but Ginny needed cheering up more than she did, at the moment. She placed it in Ginny's hand. "Here. You can save it for later, if you want to."

Ginny stared down at it in shock, and then looked up at Luna. "Wow—um—thanks, Luna."

"That's all right," she said happily. "Enjoy it."

Ginny actually laughed, and Luna beamed. "Do you always wander around with your pockets crammed full of sweets?"

Luna shook her head. "It's my birthday, so Daddy sent me a big box of all my favorites."

"Oh," said Ginny in surprise. "Happy birthday, then."

It was Luna's turn to be surprised; she wasn't generally used to birthday greetings from anyone except her father. "Thank you," she said, genuinely pleased. "Would you like to come with me?"

Ginny frowned. "Come with you where?"

"I was about to go up to the Astronomy Tower," Luna shrugged. "It's really lovely during the day, you know, and as the sky was so pretty today, I thought I'd go up and read. I've got a new copy of the _Quibbler _in my bag, if you'd like to look at it. I wrote the Potions Puzzler this month, so I haven't even solved that."

"You did?" Ginny asked, sounding stunned.

"I do it when Daddy runs out of time," she explained. Ginny still looked shocked. "If you wait just a minute, I'll choose a book and we can go up. I think you'll like it, it's very relaxing," she said. "Oh—if you want to come along." Ginny looked hesitant; Luna wondered if it had more to do with her, or with the obvious weight that Ginny was trying to shoulder alone. "That's all right," Luna said happily, not wanting to make her feel as though she were being forced into anything. "Maybe next time."

And she turned and walked away, looking for a book to borrow.

"We played together," said Ginny. Luna turned. "When we were little. I think we were…we were about six, weren't we? Our mums arranged it."

Luna smiled. "That's right. I remember that. My mother really liked yours a lot."

"Mine did, too. She was really sad when…" she trailed off, looking mortified, but to Luna's relief, she didn't apologize. It wasn't as though she disliked talking of her mother, but it was certainly not easy. "Anyway, I don't think I was very nice to you," Ginny continued guiltily, taking a step forward. "I—I was used to my brothers. I didn't know what other girls did."

Luna thought for a moment about what to say. "You know, I really don't remember."

Ginny took another step forward, rubbing her arm. She still held the sugar quill. "Maybe we can…try again? To be friends, I mean?"

Until this moment, it had not occurred to Luna that anyone else in her year could have felt as lonely as she had since arriving at Hogwarts, but now she could see that Ginny was obviously having a difficult time as well. She felt very self-centered, indeed.

"I'd like that," she said honestly.

And for the first time in all her twelve years, Luna Lovegood spent her birthday with a friend.


	5. Arthur Weasley (2055)

Don't be sad, okay? And if you are sad, you can leave me an angry review. I love Arthur! Happy birthday, Mr. Weasley!

* * *

6 February 2055

_Frail_ had never been a word that Molly had connected with Arthur. Not once, in the decades they had been together, had it crossed her mind as a possible description for him.

But on the night of his last birthday (they all knew that that was what it was, even Arthur), she was acutely aware of just how frail he had become, even in just the last few weeks. He was propped up in his armchair at the moment, reclining with his feet up. A thick layer of Molly's homemade blankets covered his legs as he laughed and chatted with the family and friends who gathered around him.

Molly hadn't moved from her own chair directly beside his all night; their fingers were linked together under the blankets, making her feel as though she were the one giving Arthur his strength.

"I'm glad you like it, Granddad," said Albus, grinning as Arthur unwrapped a bottle of premium firewhisky.

"Like it? I'll have to see if your Gran will start putting this in my tea," he laughed. He passed the bottle to Molly, who set it aside. "Thanks, Albus."

Al bent and hugged him—it was a long moment before they finally broke apart. He gave Molly a smile, murmured his goodbyes, and walked away quickly to find his wife. Arthur sighed, shifting under his blankets and closing his eyes. His fingers tightened on hers.

She leaned over him, pretending to fuss with a quilt. "Feel all right, darling? Are you ready for bed?" she asked in a low voice.

"No, no," he murmured. "Just closing my eyes for a minute. Are there many people still here?"

"Just Ginny, Ron—a few others. Almost everyone's gone home," she said. "You can go to sleep if you want to, they won't mind."

"No, no," he replied. "I'm awake. I'm here." He opened his eyes and looked over at the sofa, where Ginny and Hermione were laughing together. "How's she doing?"

Molly looked over at their daughter; she had been blind for just over a year, now. It was rare to see her without Harry at her side; she almost never allowed anyone else to help her. "She's fine, just now."

"Don't let her get overtired," Arthur told her seriously. "She'll try and keep up with the party and overdo it—"

"Not unlike someone else I know," Molly interrupted gently, leaning in and kissing his forehead. "You need to relax, darling."

He smiled. "All right, all right."

"Hey, Granddad."

"Luna, sweetheart," he said happily, looking up at their very pregnant great-granddaughter—one of Lily and Lorcan's twins. He took her hand with his free one. "Are you off?"

"We're heading home, he's getting tired," she said, rubbing her middle. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you," Arthur replied, patting her back gently as she hugged him. "Take care of yourself. I want to see that baby." Luna grinned, even as Molly could see the pain in her eyes. She took Arthur's hand and brought it to rest on her belly. He laughed. "Well, hello there, son."

Molly felt tears rise suddenly. She released Arthur's hand, patting his shoulder briefly. "I'll be right back," she muttered, her voice breaking. And she got up and hurried away as quickly as she could to the kitchen. It was empty now, but there was a full sink of dirty dishes. That would do; she could wash them and get her mind off of things.

She set to work scrubbing without magic, because it felt better to have something to do. She was just getting into a rhythm when—

"Mum?" Molly looked around at once; Ginny was walking carefully into the kitchen, unaided but so familiar with the Burrow that she didn't have any trouble at all in finding her way. Her outstretched hand brushed the countertop and she moved to lean against it. "I can hear you, you know," she said gently, but with just a touch of impatience. "Are you crying?"

Molly didn't leave the sink. "I'll be all right, sweetheart. It's been a long night."

Ginny folded her arms, frowning. "Strange time to do the dishes," she said.

"Well, there aren't very many to do, I'll be back in a moment," Molly lied. "You go enjoy the party, won't you?"

There was a long period of silence in which she scrubbed particularly hard at a plate. Then, suddenly, she felt Ginny's hands on her shoulders. She dropped the dish in the sink and turned around, embracing her with a sob.

Ginny hugged her. "I know," she said softly. "He—he's—" But she couldn't seem to find anything to say, so she simply held her tighter.

Finally, Molly pulled back, composing herself. "It's been a long night," she said again, shaking her head. She wiped her tears away. "It's strange, you know—I've—I've never thought this part of things. The last birthday party, the last time we're—we're all together like this…with him." She sniffled, and Ginny's chin trembled. "So much of being—being married is—the first time you do something. Not the last. And," her voice broke, and she felt more tears spilling over, "I—I don't know what I'm supposed to do when—"

"Don't," said Ginny sharply, suddenly. "Don't, Mum."

Molly shook herself. "No, sweet pea, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you all of this. I'm sorry."

"It's not that," Ginny told her at once. "It's—all right, look. This—this is probably the last time we get to have Dad's birthday with him. And that's awful," she said. "But he's still here. He's sat through this entire party, all of our hordes of people—because he's here, right now, and he wants to be with all of us."

She drew a deep breath, taking Molly's hands; she seemed frustrated that she couldn't look her in the eye. "Worrying about—about what's going to happen isn't going to change the fact that he's here now, and he loves us. Understand? We can't be sad about something that hasn't happened, when there's a lot we can be happy about that has."

Molly stared at her. Ginny had taken on a lot in the last year (the last ten, really, since that one dreadful visit to the Healer), but only rarely did she ever come this close to talking about it.

"Harry would have gone mad ages ago if I hadn't said the same thing to him every few weeks," Ginny added, smirking as though she'd read Molly's mind. She linked their hands together, her voice tightening as she said, "But I do know what you mean, all right? I understand. Harry and I have had a few last times, too."

"Oh, Ginny," Molly sobbed, hugging her again. When she drew back, she saw tears on Ginny's cheeks as well. Tenderly, she wiped them away, cupping her face in her hands. Then she laughed and kissed her forehead. "You're so much smarter than me, darling. I love you."

Ginny smiled slightly. "Me too, Mum. Now come on, I'll bet he's missing us by now," she said, sliding her arm into the crook of Molly's elbow; it was a special gesture, one that made Molly inexpressibly happy and sad at once.

"There they are," Arthur said happily as they entered the sitting room. Harry and Ron had set up the chessboard close to his chair and were playing Arthur as a team; Hermione seemed to be his partner. "We wondered where you'd gone, girls. Ginny, your husband and your brother are winning this game, and Hermione is no help at all…"

"Thanks, Arthur," Hermione laughed, pretending to be offended.

"Chess?" Ginny asked, looking shrewd. "Step aside, Hermione, I'm here. Mum?" Molly led her to an empty chair next to Arthur's, and he began explaining the board to her.

Hermione got up and came to Molly's side. "I'm going to make some tea," she said quietly. She nodded to the chair she had just left, directly beside Arthur. "Go take my seat."

Molly nodded, still rooted to the spot. "Thank you, dear."

Hermione looked over at the chess game, which was getting heated as Ginny and Arthur sent a pawn to decapitate a white bishop, and shook her head. "Typical, isn't it?" she laughed, walking off to the kitchen.

Molly, smiling to herself, went around Arthur's chair and sat down beside him, busying herself at once with tucking in his blankets. He looked around at her and smiled, putting one hand out for hers. She took it and kissed his fingers.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart."


	6. Hannah Longbottom (2009)

9 February 2009

"Mumma. Mumma."

Hannah opened her eyes just a crack. Little Alice had managed to slip out of her crib again, and was now holding herself upright against the side of the bed. "Good morning, lovey," she mumbled. She sat up against the headboard and scooped Alice into her arms, kissing her neck. The little girl shrieked delightedly. "_You_ are not supposed to sneak out of bed, you little niffler," Hannah scolded, nibbling at her wrist playfully.

"Mumma!" Alice shrieked. "'Top it!"

"No," Hannah insisted, baring her teeth in a funny face. "Never."

"Eee!"

Hannah chuckled, just as Neville came into the room, straightening his robes and collecting the essays he'd been grading at the kitchen table. The manager's flat above the Leaky Cauldron was high-ceilinged but rather small, without many rooms—Alice had a tiny bedroom to herself beside the bathroom, and Neville and Hannah slept in the main room, which included their bed, the kitchen and dining area, the sofa and coffee table, and a single desk that was currently overflowing with all of Hannah's paperwork for the bar. It was cramped and cluttered, but tidy and very much their home.

"I was just coming to wake you," Neville said happily. "Good morning, girls." He bent over and kissed Hannah, then Alice, who giggled hysterically. "Happy birthday, Hannah."

She beamed, getting out of bed and balancing Alice on her hip. "I can't wait for dinner tonight. Color me curious."

"Well, you'll have to wait and see what I've got planned, and that goes double for your present," Neville said teasingly as Hannah settled Alice in her high chair. The baby picked up a spoon and began waving it around like a wand while Hannah went to the stove to prepare breakfast. Neville came close and slid his arms around her hips as she pointed her wand at the burner.

"Don't worry about making me anything, I'll eat up at the castle. I've got a full day of lessons, got to head off," he said, kissing the back of her neck. "But I'll be home as soon as I'm done."

"I've alerted the girls," Hannah assured him. "They know I'm not going to be downstairs for the dinner rush."

"Are you sure you'll be okay, if Dinah's got the day off?" Neville asked, bending over and kissing Alice's blonde curls as he picked up his briefcase. "Should I take her to my grandmother's?"

"Oh, don't bother Augusta this early, she's had no warning," Hannah told him. "I can get through a single day without the nanny. Besides, I love spending time with my favorite girl. Who's coming to work with Mummy?" she cooed at Alice. "Who's going to get carried around in Auntie Luna's silly little pouch like a baby kangaroo? I still haven't thanked her for making it for me," she said, adopting a startlingly normal tone as she suddenly remembered.

Neville laughed, coming close again. "If you're sure," he said. He leaned in and they kissed warmly. "Have a fantastic day, birthday girl."

He pulled back and Hannah pressed her mouth shut, nodding briefly and giving him a wave. He waved back, disappearing out the door, and she released a slow breath. She had just been overcome by a terrible wave of nausea; she was going to have to speak to Neville about replacing his aftershave.

But through the whole day, as Hannah went about her work in the Cauldron with Alice strapped onto her front, the nausea did not abate. In the early afternoon, it had developed into a pounding headache, so Hannah gave the word to one of her backup cooks that she was going upstairs. She did _not_ want to be sick when Neville got home to make her dinner. This was terrible—she had thought that she was long past the flu she had caught in early January.

She lay down on top of the blankets in her bed, keeping a fussy Alice close in her arms. Within a few minutes, they were both drifting off to sleep…

* * *

"All right," said Neville, poking his head into Alice's tiny nursery. "Little girls named Alice and their mummies are now allowed in the kitchen."

"Ooh, Alice," Hannah said happily, scooping her up off the carpet, where they had been playing with dolls, "Let's go see what Daddy's made us."

"You feel all right?" he asked, kissing her as she got up. "You look gorgeous."

Hannah had put on her favorite dress and fixed her hair and makeup; it was a night in, but it was definitely a special one. Her flu-like symptom had mercifully disappeared after her nap with Alice. "Thanks," she murmured, kissing him again and following him to the main room.

"Okay, stop," he said, before she could see the table setting. "Close your eyes." She obeyed, and Neville lifted Alice out of her arms; she could hear him put her in her high chair. Then his hands closed on hers. "Follow me," he said. "I've got you."

Hannah nodded, taking a few steps forward. Neville positioned her the way he wanted her, then put his arm around her waist. "Okay. Open."

The table was beautifully set with candles and the finest dishes they had. A large, steaming roast, cooked to perfection, lay in the center of it all, but Hannah's eyes were transfixed by something else.

"What's that?" she whispered, pointing at a small diorama, decorated with tiny furniture.

"This," Neville said slowly, bringing her closer, "is the model of our renovated flat. I'm going to put in our second floor and make the expansions. I've got it all worked out. I'm starting this weekend."

Hannah clapped her hands over her mouth, facing him. "Really?"

"I've been promising you more space since you were pregnant with Alice," he said. "Happy birthday. Hope you're ready to pick out some paint colors for our bedroom. How long has it been since we had one of those?"

Hannah laughed, throwing her arms around his neck. "You're amazing, Neville! But—"

"But?" he repeated, looking suddenly wary. "But what?"

"Well, there's still only one bedroom downstairs," she said, gesturing on the model of the flat. "Just one, for Alice."

"And we'll take the big one, up here," he told her.

Hannah nodded. "And where will the baby sleep?" she asked.

"In her room," Neville laughed. "You just—" His smile vanished, replaced by a look of utter shock. His eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

"I mean, he—or she—will have to sleep with us, for a while, but…after that? Alice's room is awfully small for two." Hannah looked up at him from under her lashes, purposefully mischievous. Neville looked as though someone had hit him on the head with a frying pan.

"Ah!" Alice shrieked. She was reaching forward, trying to get to her little plate of mashed peas. Hannah smiled and walked over to her high chair to place it in front of her, just as Neville seemed to finally wake up again.

"Hannah," he said slowly, turning to face her. "Are you…pregnant?"

She smiled widely. "Not a lot gets past you, Longbottom," she said. She laid both hands over her stomach. "I haven't looked at a calendar in weeks," she laughed. "I think I'm more than two and a half months in. Shows you how attentive I can be."

"Seriously?" he asked weakly.

"I made an appointment at St. Mungo's early tomorrow morning to be absolutely sure," she said, feeling her chin tremble. "Think you can turn up to school a bit late?"

Neville rushed forward and pulled her into a hug, actually lifting her off her feet and spinning her through the air, and shouted, "Hannah! Hannah, Merlin's _pants!_"

She laughed hysterically, her tears spilling over as he set her down again. "I'll take that as a yes," she said, sniffling. She put her hands on his face and kissed him. "Are you happy?"

"Ecstatic," he said, still looking faint. He held her hands, apparently lost for words.

"All right?" she asked, kissing him again.

"It's your birthday," Neville told her. She nodded. "I'm supposed to give _you_ presents."

Hannah burst out laughing. "That's the soppiest thing I've ever heard, Neville," she told him honestly. "And I love it."

"I love _you_," he replied, and they kissed again as Alice hummed a little song to herself, her mouth smeared with green.


	7. Audrey Weasley (2052)

This is a bit of a fleshed-out version of a drabble from the Percy/Audrey "Hearts of Ten" chapter, so if you recognize it, you're right. Happy birthday, Audrey!

* * *

12 February 2052

It was strange, thought Percy as he flipped a pancake, that just a year ago, Audrey had had a dreadful birthday. Not only had she been bedridden in a hospital room in St. Mungo's, but she and Percy had both been quite sure that it was going to be the last of her birthdays that they would ever get to spend together. She had become very ill around the time of her retirement from the Ministry, and the last three years of her worsening condition had been filled with hospital stays and emergency visits to the Healer. Worst of all, though, had been the terrible moment last July when they had been told that no more could be done: that Audrey was going to die.

But Molly—_their_ Molly, _their_ daughter—she had changed all of it. Percy now seriously regretted the day he tried to talk her out of becoming a Healer in favor of a job at the Ministry. Her efforts, concerted with those of Audrey's cousin Lucy, who was also a Healer at St. Mungo's, had saved Audrey's life. And now Audrey was getting healthier by the day.

He scooped up the pancake and added it to the stack, then looked up at the clock; it was already noon. Audrey slept quite a lot, now, which he didn't mind. She had three years of fitful rest to catch up on. But she'd be down soon, and he wanted to have her favorite meal ready. He went digging through the cupboard and found the stash of Honeydukes chocolate he'd bought and hidden.

Audrey lived and breathed for chocolate anything. It was her favorite food, and always had been, though it was when she became pregnant with Molly and they'd gone to a wizarding clinic in Switzerland to ensure the baby's health that her true addiction had kicked in. On every special occasion since he'd met her, Percy had gotten Audrey a special chocolate something as an extra present. He had some making up to do, he felt, for he had skipped on the chocolate in the last three years; after only a few months of being sick, Audrey's appetite, even for chocolate, had vanished completely. By Christmastime last year, she was lucky if she could stomach weak tea and a bit of toast, and she only ever did it to keep him happy, not because she wanted it.

But a month ago, when she'd woken up in St. Mungo's after receiving Molly's treatment, the first words Audrey had even been able to speak, after his name, were "chocolate scone." That was how Percy had known it had worked, that Audrey would be all right, and that he was an idiot for ever thinking that Molly belonged behind a desk in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

He flicked his wand over the chocolate bar; it began to shave itself into little flakes over the plate, melting on the hot pancakes. Then he waved his wand again, and the chocolate bits assembled themselves. He grinned; it was a lot easier to smile, now, but he felt out of practice.

"Perce?"

He turned around. Audrey, still in her dressing gown and slippers, was coming into the kitchen. "Good morning," he said happily, blocking the pancakes behind his back.

She beamed back at him, looking like her old self in spite of how thin and fragile she still was. "Good morning—afternoon, I should say." She placed both hands on the tabletop and lowered herself carefully into a chair with a little sigh .

Percy came close and hugged her around the shoulders, then kissed her. "Happy birthday," he said gently.

Audrey smiled, linking their fingers together. "Thanks. I like seventy-three better than seventy-two, don't you?" she asked, squeezing his hand.

"Definitely," he nodded. He went back to the countertop and picked up the pancakes. Audrey's mouth fell open.

"Percy," she gasped. "Oh, sweetheart, _thank_ you—but I can't eat all of that—"

Percy put the plate down in front of her, and she went silent, staring down at the melting chocolate bits that he had charmed to spell out in gooey letters, _Happy Birthday Audrey_. When she looked up at him, she had tears in her eyes. "Thank you," she said, taking his hand. "I love you."

Percy smiled and handed her a fork and a knife. "I love you, too."


	8. Alice Longbottom (1990)

Happy birthday, Alice! Love, love, love. :)

* * *

14 February 1990

"Come along, Neville," said Gran, pulling him by his hand down the corridor of the hospital ward. "Don't drag your feet."

Neville picked up his pace a bit, struggling to keep up with his grandmother's long stride. They reached the doors marked _Janus Thickey Ward: Long-Term Care_, and Gran knocked smartly. A nurse opened the door and smiled. "Oh, Mrs. Longbottom, how good to see you—and Neville, too! Hello, Neville! How are you, sweetheart?"

Neville turned scarlet and smiled at Justina, one of the very nice nurses who worked in the spell damage ward. "Fine, thank you," he mumbled.

Justina opened the door for them to come all the way in. "We've all just had breakfast—Alice got a special treat with hers, since it's her special day," she said to Gran. "I'm sure they'll be very glad to see you both—"

"May we have the curtains drawn, for a bit of privacy, please?" asked Gran crisply.

"Already done," said Justina. "We knew you'd be along today, I haven't seen you miss a birthday yet." They had arrived at the end of the long ward where Mum and Dad lived; Neville felt as though Christmas had been ages ago. He had wanted very much to see his parents in the last few weeks, but Gran didn't always bring him on her visits, because he couldn't sit still for very long.

He had known for some time, since Gran had explained "some important things" to him, that he should never expect Mum or Dad to say anything, or to play with him, but there was always something wonderful in being able to go and be near them, just the same. He wondered if Gran knew that he felt that way about visiting, or if she just thought he wasn't paying attention. There was a difference, after all, in the way they visited. Gran liked to talk to Mum and Dad—Neville did not. He fancied that maybe, they didn't like people talking at them all day long when they couldn't talk back, and perhaps it was more fun to have someone visit and just be quiet with them.

Gran was still holding his hand firmly; he'd gotten separated from her and been lost for about ten minutes the other day in Diagon Alley, and she had been especially careful about keeping him close by ever since. He was nine and a half years old, and found it a bit annoying, honestly. He didn't understand what the problem was; unlike the other times he'd been lost, he had known precisely where he was, but Gran hadn't. He'd gotten in quite a lot of trouble for it at home.

He followed Gran behind the curtains that blocked off Mum and Dad's beds from the rest of the ward. They were both in their dressing gowns, sitting in the armchairs beside their beds, and looked up in surprise at Gran. Neville smiled nervously as Mum spotted him, looking vaguely interested in what was happening. He gave her a little wave, and she did the same; it wasn't recognition, he told himself, but it made him happy to see it.

"Hello, Frank, dear," said Gran, bending over and kissing Dad's cheek. "You're looking a bit better, has that cough gone away? Oh, and Alice," she said, giving Mum a hug as well. "Happy birthday, dear."

Mum gave a little sigh, smiling slightly. Gran pointed to a chair, and Neville climbed into it obediently. She settled herself next to him. "I have something exciting to tell you both," she said, removing her gloves. "Neville, dear, take off your coat."

He obeyed, scrambling to undo the big buttons.

"Neville," she said, pointing at him, "has shown his first piece of magic. Your Uncle Algie managed to get it out of him, Frank."

He looked up at his parents, hoping for a bit of a reaction—but there was none. They just smiled. He supposed that would do. He looked over at the walls above their beds; they were covered in photographs of him, Gran, and of Mum and Dad together.

"So he'll be getting his Hogwarts letter next summer, after all," Gran said proudly. "Isn't that lovely, Alice? Isn't that a nice birthday present, such good news?"

Mum was not listening, but reaching into her pocket. She produced a single Chocolate Frog wrapper and held it out nervously to Neville. He smiled and took it.

"Well," said Gran, "That's very sweet, Alice, thank you. Neville, thank your mother."

"Thanks, Mum," he mumbled, pocketing the wrapper. Mum often did things like that—she saved odds and ends from her day and gave them to Neville. It bothered Gran, because she would often find wrappers and trinkets and bits of rubbish in his room, but he liked it. He had never seen his mother give things to anybody else but him—never Gran or Dad. He liked to think (pretend, Gran would say) that Mum always knew how much he liked her gifts.

As was their custom, Neville and Gran stayed for a lovely, long visit. He kept shooting furtive smiles at both of his parents when they would look at him; they didn't really respond, but Neville would have hated for them to think that he was not happy to be there. And it wasn't as though he _was_ unhappy—but as special as visiting was, it hurt quite a lot as well. It was hard for Neville to put into words exactly how he felt.

Eventually, Gran got up and kissed Mum, then Dad. Then she looked at Neville and said, "We had better get to our errands. Say goodbye, now."

Neville slid off his chair and approached his father first to gently hug him; Dad didn't really seem to notice, but smiled vaguely. "Bye, Dad. See you soon." Then he whispered (for Gran always seemed to get rather sad when she heard him say it), "I love you."

Then he turned to his mother, glancing over his shoulder. Gran was fussing with her handbag. Neville plunged a hand in the pocket of his trousers and hurriedly placed a folded-up square of pink and red in Mum's hand. He stood on tiptoe and kissed her cheek. "Happy birthday, Mum. That's for you. I love you," he whispered in her ear.

Mum's fingers closed over the little valentine, and she smiled dreamily at him. Then, to his utter shock—for the first time he could remember in all the years of coming to see his parents, she put out one thin hand and patted his head.

Neville stared at her, his heart bounding erratically. Then he grinned, and she smiled as well. He looked around; Gran hadn't seen; she was picking up his coat for him. Once he had put it on, she took firm hold of his hand.

"Goodbye," she said, in the very gentle tone that Neville only ever heard her use when they were in the spell damage ward. "We'll be back soon."

Neville waved at his mother as Gran led him out of the curtains; she waved back.

* * *

Honestly, though...I think that even taking into account everything that happens by the end of Deathly Hallows, Alice and Frank will always be the absolute worst blow of all for me. I don't cry when I read the books, I honestly don't, but I can't read the bit of "Christmas on the Closed Ward" where Alice appears to see Neville without dissolving into tears, and that's barely a page. It's just so painful, and so horrible.

I mean, really. Just take in what exactly happened to these people. It's unbearable.


	9. Sirius Black (1981)

18 February 1981

"Seer-ee-us. Seer-ee-us. Can you say it, mate? Seer-ee-us."

"He's seven months old, I don't think he can say much of anything," said James as he and Lily came into the sitting room, carrying the small birthday cake and a stack of plates and forks. As if to agree with his father, Harry stuck both chubby fists in the air and gave a loud shriek, throwing his head back and laughing like a maniac. Sirius laughed, too, bouncing him up and down in his lap.

"Try 'Snuffles,'" said Lily, serving the cake onto plates. "Harry, sweetheart, can you say, _Snuffy?"_

James snorted.

"I'm not going to be called Snuffles," Sirius informed her. "And if that's what you're going to teach him to call me, Evans, then _we_ are _leaving_." He made a haughty face at Harry, who laughed hysterically, and got up with the baby still in his arms, pretending to head for the door.

"Not with my son, you aren't," Lily said at once, snatching Harry out of Sirius's arms and hugging him close, kissing his neck. Harry chuckled. "Who's my funny boy? Who's my little laughing boy? I cannot get over how giggly he is," she said to James.

"He's a happy kid," he shrugged. "He's got three uncles who like to—well, do that," he said, gesturing at Sirius, who had taken the baby back and was swooping him through the air. Harry was positively screaming with laughter. Suddenly aware that he was being watched, Sirius stopped, holding Harry horizontally on one hand, like a balanced tray.

"Uh?" Harry asked curiously, looking around at him.

"I think someone's gone a little dewy-eyed for the baby," James snickered.

"I have not," Sirius insisted, lifting Harry against his shoulder in a dignified manner. "I'm the cool uncle—I have a motorbike! Right, mate?" he asked Harry, who was sucking on his fingers, frowning at him. Then he threw his fat little arms around Sirius's neck with another mad cackle of laughter.

"Well, I hope there's a baby seat on the back," Lily said seriously. Sirius glared at her, just as Harry gave a long yawn in his arms, snuggling close to his shoulder.

"Somebody's stayed up past their bedtime," said Lily. "Give him to me, Sirius, I'll put him to bed."

He hesitated. "Er—can I do it?"

Lily lifted her eyebrows. "Sure," she replied. "Just—well, just get him settled down, all right? And put a blanket on? And he won't sleep without his bear, so make sure it's in the crib—"

"Oh, in the crib? I was going to put him in the laundry basket," said Sirius. "Thanks for letting me know."

"Very funny," Lily replied, as she and James both got up. "Come back down here when you're done, we have a present for you. I love you, sweetie," she said, giving Harry a kiss in Sirius's arms. "Time for bed. Night-night."

"Give him hell," James whispered to the baby. Sirius shook his head and carried Harry out of the sitting room, upstairs to the nursery.

"Your parents are all right," he said, patting Harry's back as they walked down the hall, "But don't forget, Sirius is here for when you start breaking things and getting in trouble." He chuckled as Harry yawned up at him. "And Remus and Peter are okay for that kind of thing, too. They can't be here tonight, they've got work to do," he explained, "For Dumbledore—oh, that's right, you haven't met him yet, have you? Well, he's been busy. You can see him next week, when Peter gives him the Secret. You'll like him. He's got a nice, big beard you can pull on. You'll have to tell me what that's like, I've always wanted to do it."

Harry blinked lazily, and Sirius smoothed his permanently rumpled tuft of black hair. He lowered his voice and said gently, "I hope you know we're all working really hard to keep you safe, mate. We are." He swallowed hard. He was having to travel everywhere he went in disguise as the black dog, because he knew that he was going to have to expect Death Eaters to corner him—that he would be suspected as James and Lily's Secret-Keeper. "Don't worry about me, though," he said to Harry, as though he had said all of this aloud. "Even if—if I can't be around for you, your Uncle Peter's got you safe. And Remus, too. You can count on the three of us, okay? We're going to keep you and your mum and your dad really safe. Promise."

Harry gave another long yawn. Sirius placed him down in his crib, tucking his bear in his arms.

"I love you, mate," he said quietly. "I'll always be here for you." Then he heard a creak on the stairs outside; Lily and James were obviously eavesdropping, so he said, "And in a few years, I'll show you how to ride a motorbike, all right? Gets all the witches, I promise."

Harry was starting to doze off, so Sirius reached out and patted his hair again, leaning his elbows against the railing of the crib. He flicked his wand and the mobile of owls above Harry's crib began to rotate slowly. "I dunno what your parents got me for my birthday that's cooler than you, mate," he added in a low voice. "Night, Harry."

* * *

Aww, what a softy. XD HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SIRIUS!


	10. Crookshanks (1994)

Remember how sometimes I do that weird thing where I write from a cat's perspective?

Yeah, well, Crookshanks always struck me as an intuitive cat with a highly underdeveloped vocabulary and a tenuous grasp on reality. Probably from running into that brick wall.

Happy birthday, you weird little animal!

* * *

22 February 1994

Crookshanks sat sulking in the shade of one of the large scratching posts that grew all together around the border of his country, beyond his castle. It was a snowy, cold day, but he had made a large snack of several mice he'd found scuttling around, and so was comfortable enough that he could sit outside and not be too terribly cold. He was, however, very grumpy. He had caught and lost the scent of the Bad Thing in the course of a single hour. He was beginning to question his own sanity. He had to keep reminding himself that he really hadn't killed it—but it certainly was doing a good job of hiding itself, and all of this snow wasn't helping.

It was a very bad Bad Thing, and now he knew just how bad.

He heard a rustling in the trees behind him and looked around. In the darkness, he could see Not Dog. Stretching himself luxuriously, Crookshanks hopped up and trotted over to him.

Not Dog wanted to know how his progress was coming; Crookshanks had nothing to report but his disappointment with himself, but Not Dog was adamant that the Bad Thing was still alive, and just hiding. Not Dog was a very supportive friend, whatever he really was.

Crookshanks shook his head. He still thought it had been a very bad idea for Not Dog to sneak into his castle. Not Dog appreciated his concern but ignored it. Crookshanks promised to meet him again in a few days—Not Dog was never safe for very long in Crookshanks's country, thanks to the Monsters that flew around making terrible noises.

Crookshanks trotted off, heading back in the direction of his castle. He had a date with a lovely lady this evening, with riveting orange eyes and long, striped fur. After all, it was not every day you turned six.


	11. Dennis Creevey (2005)

Happy birthday, Dennis!

* * *

28 February 2005

Dennis sat by himself in the anteroom of the chamber where the ceremony was to happen, repeating to himself over and over the routine he had been walked through yesterday. _Handshake, nod, oath, handshake, photograph. Handshake, nod, oath, handshake, photograph. Handshake, nod, oath, handshake, photograph._

He took a steadying breath; he could do this. He was the third and final Auror to be confirmed today, and at any moment, Jennifer Brennan would be finished, those doors were going to open, and he was going to have to go in and face the entire office of Aurors, headed by Kingsley Shacklebolt, who would ask him to deliver his oath.

"I do swear it," he muttered to himself, rubbing his sweaty palms together. _The whole thing's only a hundred words, Dennis, you can do this_. Dennis closed his eyes; sometimes, he genuinely thought the voice in his head sounded more like Colin than it sounded like himself. He reached into his pocket, looking for the gift his mother had given him at breakfast that morning; she and his father were waiting inside the chamber as well.

His fingers closed on the photograph, and he smiled, pulling it out. His mother's handwriting was along the bottom: _Colin and Dennis, D's first day at Hogwarts, 1 Sept. 1994_. He grinned at his brother's beaming face. Colin had developed this photograph, so both he and Dennis were waving ecstatically at the camera from in front of their childhood home. Dennis still remembered that day like it had just happened—it had been so rainy by the time they got to Hogwarts that a gust of wind had caught him, knocking him into the lake as Hagrid had shepherded all the first year boats across the water. He had loved it, and Colin had told him about the giant squid, which had probably been the thing that had shoved Dennis back into his boat.

"Miss you, mate," Dennis mumbled, looking at the photograph. "You should be here, today. You would've loved all this. Snapping pictures with that bloody camera."

The door to the anteroom swung open, and an Auror called Wilson appeared. She gave Dennis a wink and said in a loud, solemn voice, "Dennis Eustace Creevey."

Dennis stood and pocketed the photo, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Wilson patted his arm as he passed and came into the main chamber. In the very center of the room was a raised dais, on which was a tall, spindly table that bore a sealed scroll and a badge bearing the crossed wands of the Auror office. But Kingsley was not waiting for him—it was Harry and Ron, second and third in command. Dennis stopped, confused, but Harry grinned at him, gesturing for him to come forward, all the way into the round auditorium.

As he did so, he became aware of a very large audience, considering only three Aurors were being inducted. He looked around; first, he spotted the members of the office, sitting in the top row of the auditorium, beside Kingsley. Then he saw his parents, not very far away from them—and beside his mother sat his girlfriend, Rose, who was smiling as he had never seen her smile before.

Dennis's gaze slid over the rest of the audience. He first spotted Susan and Ernie and his 'adopted' niece and nephew, Maggie and Colin. Susan, who sat with Maggie, was very pregnant with their third child, and Dennis could see little Colin waving at him from Ernie's arms. Then he saw Hannah and Neville, Katie and Seamus—Terry and Cho, Michael—Alicia, Angelina, George, Hermione, Luna—Ginny, holding hers and Harry's new baby, Padma and Parvati, Lavender…

He had arrived at the dais, and Harry and Ron were both grinning at him. "What…?" he asked in an undertone, shaking both of their hands.

"You're the first member of Dumbledore's Army to get a job in this office since us," Ron told him in a low voice. "We thought we'd pass the word along."

"Hope you don't mind," Harry added. "We asked to do your oath." Dennis was dumbfounded. Then Harry cleared his throat. "Dennis Eustace Creevey, you have satisfactorily passed the examinations and surmounted all tasks laid before you as a training Auror. You have proven yourself a relentless enemy of the Dark Arts and all that they entail. You stand here today faced with the opportunity to swear an oath, which you will be expected to uphold for as long as you stand a member of this office."

Ron stepped forward, holding the scroll and the badge. "Dennis Eustace Creevey, make your oath."

Dennis swallowed and nodded. He was very aware of all the eyes that were on him. "I-I—D-Dennis Eustace Creevey—" He slipped one hand in his pocket and felt the photograph. _Come on, you can do it_.

"I," he began again, his voice much stronger, "Dennis Eustace Creevey of Little Snoring, Norfolk, do solemnly and sincerely declare and affirm that I will well and truly serve the wizarding community in the office of Auror, with fairness, integrity, diligence, and impartiality, upholding the fundamental rights of witches, wizards, and all magical beings, according equal respect to all; and that I will, to the best of my power, cause the peace of our world to be kept and preserved and prevent all offenses against wizarding law; and that while I continue to hold this office I will to the best of my skill and knowledge discharge all the duties thereof faithfully. I do swear it."

Harry grinned. "Dennis Eustace Creevey, you are hereby affirmed as a member of the Auror office, and as a defender of wizarding society from the Dark Arts. Congratulations." He offered his hand, which Dennis shook, and then Ron held out the scroll. Dennis grinned and shook his hand as well, accepting it. Ron put the badge on the front of Dennis's dress robes, and all three of them turned to face the photographer, who was sitting in the very front row.

At once, all of Dumbledore's Army leapt to their feet, applauding and cheering, shouting Dennis's name. Harry and Ron both clapped hands on his shoulders, as all three of them grinned for the camera.

"Oh," said Harry quietly, "Happy birthday, mate."

Dennis grinned.


	12. Ron Weasley (2006)

Aww, happy birthday to my favorite Weasley! Ronniekins, I love you!

* * *

1 March 2006

Ron rubbed his arms for warmth as he sat keeping watch outside the tent. It was getting to be very late, nearly three in the morning; Harry would be up soon to relieve him, and he could probably get a few hours' sleep before they moved camp again. Perhaps it was his imagination getting to him, because he was so tired, or perhaps it was simply because the woods they had chosen for their campsite this time were so dark, as they had grown densely together, but Ron was feeling particularly nervous tonight.

Normally, he didn't mind taking the late-night watches at all. In fact, he preferred it, because Hermione was always in a better mood with him when she had had a chance to sleep. But tonight, he was very on edge. He didn't want to sit out here in the dark, looking out between the trees, jumping at every slight movement, every small noise.

He rubbed his eyes hard, reminding himself that on the off chance someone _did_ stumble this way through the woods, at this hour of the night, he would be completely invisible to them.

"Get 'em."

Fear charged down Ron's spine. He had heard the words, hadn't he? Surely he had, as clear as anything. He got to his feet, drawing his wand, and looked around, but could see nothing. A twig snapped, and he whirled around. Nothing.

His heart was racing now, his veins pounding with terrible fear. The trees spun around him as he tried to figure out where the voices and sounds were coming from. He could see nobody, but he could hear whispers and venomous words whipping around him as though they were carried on the wind—

"Ron!"

A hand descended on his shoulder, and he gave a yell of fright.

He opened his eyes. He was in his and Hermione's bedroom, in their house, safe and sound, and Hermione was sitting on the bed beside him, looking very worried. It was still dark outside.

"Are you all right?" she asked, combing her fingers through his hair. "Ron?"

Shakily, he nodded and pulled himself up to lean against the headboard. "What're you doing up?" he asked, his voice dry. Hermione smiled at him and took his hand, bringing it to rest on her belly. She was almost five and a half months pregnant, and showing conspicuously.

"Feel it?" she asked.

Ron's eyes widened as he felt a faint kick. "Merlin's pants," he muttered.

"What do you think of that?" Hermione laughed, positively beaming. "Took him long enough to move for us, don't you think?" She caught sight of his expression and frowned. "Ron?"

He hitched a smile on his face, but it was a little too late. "That's brilliant, Hermione," he said earnestly. "Really."

She frowned. "Were you having a nightmare?"

"No, no," he lied at once. "No, I'm fine."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You know I don't believe that for a minute, right?"

"Blimey, Hermione," he grumbled, pushing back the blankets on the bed and getting up. He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Hermione followed him, leaning in the doorway.

"Ron," she said. "We've talked about this. Was it Bellatrix again?"

He turned off the tap with extra force and buried his face in a towel. "No," he said shortly. "I'm fine. What time is it? You should be sleeping, you've got that early meeting."

"Don't mollycoddle me to get out of having a conversation," Hermione answered sharply.

"Hermione," Ron groaned, exasperated. "I don't want to fight in the middle of the bloody night."

"Neither do I," she replied. "I just want to know—"

"Damn it, I'm _fine!_" he snapped. Hermione blinked, and her hands moved to cover her belly as though she were protecting it from Ron's shouting. His heart sank and he felt immediately horrible.

"Oh," she said quietly. "Well, why didn't you just say so?" And she turned and walked away, leaving him alone.

He let out an exasperated sigh. "Hermione," he said, following her into the bedroom. "Hermione, I'm sorry."

She nodded. She was already getting back in bed, turning out the light on her bedside table. "That's all right. Good night, Ron."

"Now, don't do that!" he insisted. "Come on, Hermione, you promised you wouldn't do that—that—letting-your-feelings-fester thing anymore. You promised."

Hermione frowned, folding her arms over her belly. "We _both_ promised that, I thought," she mumbled, though she looked very guilty.

Ron drew a sharp breath in through his nose, looking away for a moment. "Okay, okay," he replied, coming to sit before her on the bed. "Hermione," he said seriously, "I had a scary dream." Against her will, she snorted and gave a faint smile. He smiled at her. "But it's okay, now, all right? I know it was just a dream."

Hermione laced their fingers together, leaning forward. "And _why_ couldn't you say that before, may I ask?"

"Well, that part's a little…tricky," he admitted uncomfortably. He scratched his nose, feeling embarrassed. "I feel—I feel really, really bad that…that I still get those dreams," he said quietly.

"Why?" Hermione asked. "You shouldn't—"

"No, I know I shouldn't," he said, becoming annoyed again, "I know. But I do, and—and what kind of dad am I—I mean, what kind of dad gets scared by nightmares? I'm supposed to look after a kid when I'm still scared of—of stuff that's been gone for years?"

Hermione blinked. "Oh, Ron," she said softly.

"I mean, what if she—he has a nightmare?" Ron asked, becoming more upset. "I can't just say it's not real, can I? I can't just tell him not to be scared."

"Ron," she said, a little more loudly. She squeezed his hand. "I know that…maybe it doesn't feel like it, right now, but just the fact that you're thinking this way tells me you're going to be the most amazing father in the world. Ooh—and baby seems to agree," she laughed, rubbing her belly with a delighted smile. Then she sobered her expression and took both of Ron's hands tightly in her own. "I don't know what we're going to say to him or her about a lot of things, Ron. I mean, it's not every day a baby is born that can find their parents on page seven-hundred and ninety-eight in their History of Magic book."

Ron snorted, but he still couldn't look Hermione in the eye. "I just don't want to…mess it up, because I—haven't got it together," he admitted.

"Ron," Hermione chided him, "That's ridiculous. If you think that—having a bad dream means you don't have your life together—don't you think Harry and Ginny have got it together? Don't you think _I_ have it together?"

"You're still dreaming about—Bellatrix?" he asked tentatively.

Hermione's lovely brown eyes—they _were_ beautiful, even when she looked so sad—gazed deeply into his. "You know the answer to that."

Ron sighed. "I'm being stupid," he said. "Really stupid."

Hermione smiled and laughed. "Let's chalk it up to a bad night, and not enough sleep," she murmured, pulling his face close to hers and kissing him. "So shall we go back to bed?"

Ron grinned, and in a sudden movement, rolled himself head-over-heels onto his side of the bed. Hermione gave a little shriek and smacked his arm. "You're going to break your neck!"

"Hey, easy there, Mum!" he cried ruefully. Hermione blushed. "You can't hit me, it's my birthday!"

Her eyes widened, and she looked around at the clock on her nightstand. It was almost two o'clock in the morning on the first of March. "Why, so it is, Mr. Weasley," she said courteously. "My sincerest apologies, and the happiest of days to you, sir."

"Thank you, ma'am," Ron smirked, drawing her close in his arms and kissing her neck. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she murmured. They lay down again, side by side, and she brought his hands around to rest on her belly. Ron fell asleep once more, his nose buried in Hermione's sweet-smelling hair, and dreamed of the apple orchard at the Burrow on a hot day…


	13. Aberforth Dumbledore (1892)

Happy birthday, Aberforth!

* * *

4 March 1892

"Aberforth! Ab, are you up there?"

Aberforth looked down through the branches of the tree he was perched in. Albus stood below, staring up at him. Aberforth averted his eyes.

"I can see you, Ab," said Albus, in that annoyingly superior tone he always used when he was bossing somebody (usually Aberforth) around.

"What do you want?" he barked grumpily.

"Mother wants you," Albus called. "She needs help with Ariana."

Aberforth let out an aggravated sigh, rolling his eyes. His irritation was not with Ariana or his mother, but with Albus. "Why don't _you_ give it a try?" he suggested.

"I did," Albus replied. "Mother just told me to get you."

"I believe that," Aberforth scoffed.

Albus rolled his eyes, but reached up his long arms, catching hold of the lowest branch on the walnut tree. "You should," he puffed, swinging himself up and reaching his brother's perch in half the time it had taken Aberforth. He scowled, but Albus stuck out a hand. "Happy birthday, by the way. You got up earlier than me, I missed saying it this morning."

Aberforth shook it. "Thanks. Now we're only two years apart again."

Albus gave him a smile. "Well, until summer, when I turn eleven. Then I'll get my Hogwarts letter."

"Right," Aberforth muttered.

"So what do you say?" Albus asked. "Come down, Mother really could use your help."

"Maybe I don't want to," Aberforth muttered, giving a half-shrug. He had the distinct impression that Albus was scrutinizing him closely. He looked away.

"What's wrong, Ab?"

"Nothing," he replied quickly.

"Are you angry about something?" Albus asked. "You know Mother always says we shouldn't stay angry…"

"No," Aberforth snapped. He regretted it; Albus was being really nice. "I mean, no, I'm not. I—I wanted to—I just wanted to…"

"What?" Albus asked.

"I wanted Ariana to come out and play with me, earlier," he muttered. "And she wouldn't."

"Oh," said Albus, frowning. "Well, that doesn't really mean anything. You know that's…how she is now," he said delicately. "It's hard for her to remember what she does and doesn't like to do."

Barely six months ago, their little sister Ariana had been viciously attacked by three horrible Muggle boys who had seen her doing magic. She had been too small to fight them off, and they had beaten her so badly that she couldn't wake up for four days. When she finally did, Father had already been arrested and was on his way to Azkaban for killing the boys. Ariana had no memory of anything that had happened and was now a fragile shell of her former, giggly self. Mother worried that she was never going to recover; that was why she had wanted to move them to Godric's Hollow, away from Muggle eyes and nosy neighbors, so that Ariana could have time to heal. Aberforth was still furious at what the boys had done to his little sister.

"I know it might not bother you when she acts like that, Albus," he retorted, "but it bothers me!"

"I didn't say it doesn't bother me," Albus said calmly. He drew his knees up to rest under his chin, balanced impossibly perfectly on the branch. "It bothers me quite a lot."

Aberforth looked away. "It's not fair."

Albus shook his head. "No, it's not."

"And we can't even get her _help_," Aberforth snapped, smacking his hand hard against the trunk of the tree. A few splinters stuck in his palm, and he picked them out, wincing. "Because of those stupid…St. Mungo's…berks."

"They would try to lock her away," said Albus sadly, "and that would be terrible."

"Aberforth? Albus! Boys?"

They both looked down to the ground. Their mother stood below the tree, with Ariana in her arms. She looked very tired. "Would you both come down, please? I would rather not have two broken necks to mend, thank you."

"I'm sorry, Mother," Albus said at once. "I got distracted, I told Ab to come up here with me."

She nodded, allowing Ariana to wriggle down from her grasp. "That's all right. Just come down, boys, will you please?"

"We're coming, Ari," Aberforth called, for Ariana had stuck both hands up, straight into the air, as though she too wanted to climb the tree. "Don't worry, we'll be there!" As usual, Albus climbed down fastest. He caught Ariana's hands and twirled her about. She gave him a faint smile, but kept her gaze on Aberforth, who was still coming down.

Mother smiled at him as he leapt off the lowest branch. "I don't suppose you could work your magic and get her to have some lunch, could you, darling?" She ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Sure," Aberforth mumbled. Nervously, he held out a hand to Ariana, careful to keep his palm up and open; she flinched in fright whenever hands came too close to her face. "Want to come with me, Ari? Want to?" She surveyed him for a moment, her enormous blue eyes wide and worried, and for a moment Aberforth was sure she would run from him again. Then she slipped her little hand in his. Albus caught his eye and grinned.

"Come along, my birthday boy," said Mother, gently steering Aberforth by the shoulders towards the house. He and Ariana held hands tightly. "I think there might be some surprises waiting for you in the kitchen. Ariana, will you show your brother his birthday present, sweet girl?"

Aberforth chanced a sidelong look at Ariana. She was smiling vaguely, looking up into the sky. She didn't speak anymore, but her smile was enough to make him happy, for now.


	14. Sybill Trelawney (1996)

Dammit, why is the internet completely unhelpful when it comes to letting me know ahead of time when these birthdays fall?! I had Trelawney all slated for September. It was going to be magnificent.

Ah well, Drunk Trelawney is a favorite of mine too, poor dear. XD Happy birthday, Professor!

* * *

9 March 1996

"Sybill? Sybill, are you in, dear?" Pomona squinted through the semidarkness of the North Tower's single wide, round room. There was no sign of Sybill or the heavily perfumed fire she always kept blazing in the fireplace. "It's Pomona…I've just come to see how you're feeling…"

_Hic_.

Pomona closed her eyes briefly, then turned around. Sybill sat on one of her own chintz poufs, swaying slightly. Her enormously magnified eyes were wet behind her spectacles, and she kept a firm grip on an empty bottle of sherry.

"Oh, dear," Pomona said, taking a few steps towards her. "It's not even two o'clock, Sybill."

"Doesn't matter," she squeaked miserably, shaking her head. "Don't have anyone to teach, do I?" Pomona came and sat down next to her, prying the bottle from her fingers and setting it on the table. "Besides," Sybill continued, "It's my birthday. I can have a drink on my birthday, can't I? Or am I—is she saying I can—can't do that, too?" she demanded, becoming suddenly cross.

Pomona rubbed her back gently. "Sybill, dear, you must _try_ to—"

"What? I must what? Why must I?" Sybill asked, frowning. "I don't want to, not at all, not after the way I got treated last night. Now, stop looking at me like that, Ponoma."

"I think you might need to take a rest, Sybill—would you like—?"

"I'm a failure," Sybill mumbled.

"No, dear," Pomona said at once. "No, you're not, you're not at all. You've just had bad luck—Dolores Umbridge is—she's just a disaster, Sybill, and that's not your fault at all. She's out to get us—"

"No, no, no," Sybill muttered, "that's not true. I'm the only one she got, amn't I? I—I don't see her—throwing _you_ or—or Minerva—out of the castle!"

"Well—no, dear, but—it's a bit different for us," Pomona began.

"Because _you_ teach _real_ subjects," Sybill sneered. "That's what Minerva would say. _Real_ subjects, not—not _making up stories_."

"That's not true, Sybill," Pomona said firmly. "You know Minerva respects you a great deal, and so do I."

Sybill snorted disbelievingly. "Maybe I _should_ leave." And then, quite without warning, she burst into very loud tears, wailing and trembling as she collapsed against Pomona's shoulder, weeping uncontrollably.

Pomona patted her back. "Oh, come now…come now, Sybill. That's not the answer at all—"

"That woman's hated me—for forever," Sybill hiccupped, as though she hadn't heard. She cleared her throat, stopping her tears. "She hated me—_hic_—when I beat her—in Astronomy, and in Charms—_hic_—and _I would've beaten her in Divination, too!"_ she snapped. "Only—only _she_ said it wasn't good—it was a—_hic—_soft subject!"

Pomona gave a heavy sigh, standing up. "Yes, dear, I think you would have. Would you like some tea and toast? Does that sound nice?"

Sybill frowned deeply at a lacy doily on a nearby table for a long moment. "Biscuits," she mumbled at last. "Chocolate. 'S my birthday."

"All right, then," Pomona said. She moved to the fireplace to prepare the kettle, as Sybill continued to mutter darkly to herself. She turned back to watch her for a moment. "Sybill, dear?"

Sybill blinked, looking up at Pomona with unfocused eyes.

"Don't forget, you beat her in Herbology, too."

Sybill hiccupped and gave a watery smile before bursting into noisy tears once more.


	15. Remus Lupin (1994)

Oh hey! I forgot to say, I've started a tumblr! I'd love to have some followers! :) xo the url is .com!

* * *

10 March 1994

Remus was thirty-four years old today, and like every birthday he had had for the last twelve years, he was alone. In fact, the only difference, so far as he could see (and he certainly wasn't ungrateful for it), between this birthday and the ones that had preceded it was that he had a paying, relatively steady job. And even if the Defense Against the Dark Arts post was jinxed, as he and James had always joked, even if it was the _worst _possible time for him of all people to be teaching at Hogwarts, it was the best job he'd ever had. He massaged his temples, letting out a slow breath. He had a pounding headache, and had long since given up reading first year essays. He was staring blankly down at the Marauder's Map—though why, he couldn't say. How on earth had Harry gotten hold of it, after all these years? Could it have been something that James had left?

No, Remus clearly remembered the day that James and Sirius had had the map confiscated. And even if they had by some miracle gotten it back, the Ministry had ransacked Sirius's flat after his arrest, and the house in Godric's Hollow had been completely destroyed the night James and Lily died. Hagrid had been lucky to even find Harry in the wreckage. And Remus sincerely doubted that Lily's sister was the sort to pass on magical family heirlooms. He combed his fingers through his hair; the headache was signaling the approach of the full moon, in two days' time. He wondered vaguely if Severus would still make him the Wolfsbane Potion this month, after Sirius's appearance in Gryffindor Tower. Well, Remus thought, Severus was many things, including unreasonable and bitter, but he was not overtly cruel.

At least, Remus hoped not.

His eyes raked over the parchment yet again. There had to be some secret route, something that they had all overlooked when writing the Marauder's Map, where Sirius was hiding out. Even in his dog form, he would appear on the map. So where was he? Not for the first time, Remus wished he could send a letter to Peter, who had been instrumental in mapping out the grounds. He had been little use with putting the charms on the map—that had been Remus's job—but he had a knack for remembering all the different passages and paths through the castle. He glanced at his watch; it was nearly eight o'clock, and Harry would be arriving soon for yet another lesson on the Patronus Charm. Remus was shocked to see how quickly he was mastering the spell, even taking into account that he was James and Lily's son. He was confident that very soon, Harry would be able to produce a corporeal Patronus. Remus grinned with pride at the very idea, thinking that James would be thoroughly impressed that his thirteen-year-old son had mastered one of the most difficult charms in existence.

There came a sudden knock at the office door. Harry was early.

"_Mischief managed,"_ Remus murmured, and the map wiped itself blank. He slipped it in his drawer and turned to the forgotten pile of essays. "Come in." The door creaked open, but he did not look up right away. "Be with you in a moment, Harry."

"Happy birthday, Remus."

He started. Minerva McGonagall was standing in the middle of his office, holding out a wrapped present. "Oh—thank you, Minerva," he said genuinely, rising and accepting it. "You didn't have to get me a gift."

She waved a hand. "It's something I've had lying around. I thought you might like it back."

"_Back_?" he asked. She shook her head and gestured for him to open it. His curiosity piqued, Remus pulled off the paper and opened the box.

"I believe I confiscated that from James Potter," said Minerva softly, "Almost twenty years ago. He had stolen it from the supply closet, and it was useless for any Quidditch matches. Flesh memory." The golden Snitch in Remus's palm gave the feeblest flutter of its delicate wings. He met Minerva's eyes.

"I know that this year has proven difficult for you, Remus," she said. "Not least because of what has been happening with Black. The break-in to Gryffindor Tower, and all that Severus said…" She closed her eyes, shaking her head, and Remus clutched the Snitch tightly. "It came a little too close to home," she finished. "So I'd like you to have that as a kind of token."

"A token?" he repeated.

Minerva's brows contracted, and she stared closely at him. "Everyone deserves to feel trusted," she said. "I trust you, particularly when it comes to Harry Potter." She pointed at the Snitch. "I know you would never let him—or Lily—down."

"I wouldn't," Remus murmured, feeling overwhelmed by gratitude—and by guilt. After almost a month, he had not brought the Marauder's Map to Dumbledore, who would undoubtedly be able to make better use of it than Remus could.

"I didn't mean to make the day gloomy," Minerva said hesitantly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Remus said at once. "No, please—this was wonderful. This has…well, there are a lot of memories I have of this Snitch. Thank you."

Minerva smiled slightly. "You're welcome." She looked down at her watch. "I expect Mr. Potter will be here any moment." Remus nodded. "Then I'll say good night, and a very happy birthday to you."

Remus held the Snitch in his hand, watching as Minerva left. When the door had shut again, he looked down at it. It was barely able to twitch its wings. He smiled and tucked it in his desk drawer.


	16. Kingsley Shacklebolt (1999)

14 March 1999

"Happy birthday, Minister."

Kingsley turned away from his window and smiled. "Good morning, Madam Jones."

"Ugh, I hate it when people call me that," Hestia said, making a face and coming into his office. She shut the door, grinning at him; her heart skipped a beat when he met her eyes, as it always did. "Makes me sound like I'm about a hundred and fifty years old."

"Well, you certainly don't look it," he replied, moving to lean against the front of his desk and giving her a smile.

"Minister, that's hardly appropriate conversation for the workplace," said Hestia in a scandalized tone, but she ruined the effect with a smirk. She handed him two of the folders she held. "I thought you'd like to see how our boys are doing."

"Aha," Kingsley said seriously as he took the trainee quarterly reports. He lifted his eyebrows. "Not bad. Ron's got his Stealth and Tracking up, that's good…and Harry's potions have improved."

"Barely," Hestia chuckled. "I don't know what Horace Slughorn was raving about in that letter of recommendation. Whatever natural ability Harry had for potion-brewing, it seems to have vanished."

Kingsley smiled, returning the folders. "I think we might be able to cut him a little slack."

"Oh_, maybe_ so," she said with a smirk. Then she frowned for a moment. "I was also wondering if—did you get one of these?" She held up a little square of blue paper.

He blinked. "I did."

"I…I think I'll go," she said slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know Andromeda very well, but…I think I'd like to be there. Will you go?" she added, rather hopefully.

"'Teddy Remus Lupin's first birthday,'" Kingsley read off the invitation. He met her eyes. "I wouldn't miss it."

"From what Harry was saying, it's going to be a bit of a reunion of…well, the Order," Hestia said tentatively. "Are you all right with that? I—I know it's…hard."

Kingsley held out a hand, and she took it. "It's only hard because I know how many people _should_ be there, but won't be," he said. "That doesn't mean I don't want to see the baby."

She squeezed his hand. "I miss them too," she said simply. Then she blinked, feeling rather foolishly emotional. "Poor thing, he probably doesn't know half his party guests are going to cry on him."

"I did, when I met him," Kingsley told her. It was a simple, honest statement, like many of the things Kingsley said, but it caught Hestia by surprise.

"You did?"

He nodded once. "It was very difficult." His voice was slow and even, as always, but there was a note of real pain that made Hestia's heart ache for him. She sometimes forgot how close he had been with Tonks, the first Auror to pass the exams after he had, and whom he looked upon as a younger sister. Kingsley considered Teddy his nephew, though he had only seen the baby a handful of times, out of respect for Tonks's mother.

Hestia looked around. "Close your eyes, Minister. I'm about to break staff regulations." And she leaned in and kissed his cheek. Kingsley laughed, and she beamed. "I love it when you laugh like that." She leaned in again, but he stopped her.

"Not in the office," he said, giving her a wink. "Save it for our date tonight."

"Eight o'clock," she replied. "I wouldn't miss it." She gave him a smile and made to leave the office.

"Hestia," he said gently, and she turned. "How do you feel about babies?" She stared at him, her stomach twisting suddenly into a knot. The hand clutching her folders slipped a little; her palms were sweaty. "Thinking about Teddy…reminds me of everything we've just come through."

"Me too," Hestia said quietly.

"And," Kingsley continued, "How we shouldn't take anything for granted. Birthdays, for instance."

Hestia narrowed her eyes shrewdly. "Your birthday, or the baby's?"

Kingsley frowned for a moment, apparently lost in thought. "Both, I think." He shook himself. "If I told you to come over at nine o'clock instead, so that I had some extra time to—get something ready for you—would that be all right?"

She blinked. "Get something ready for me?"

Kingsley smiled in his most enigmatic way. "I have a question to ask you, and there's no time like the present."

Hestia's heart was hammering in her throat, and she made a kind of strangled choking sound. "Right," she squeaked. "Nine o'clock, then." She laid her hand on the doorknob, barely able to contain herself, when she whirled around suddenly. "I love them!" she burst out. Kingsley blinked.

"Kids," Hestia explained quickly. "I love kids."

He laughed, and her heart melted, just a little bit. "I'll see you tonight."

She nodded. "I'll be the one with the birthday cake."

* * *

Happy birthday, Kingsley! Ahh, one of my all-time favorite Aurors. Teehee, I hope he found someone to settle down with after the war...

Also, I have a tumblr! Check the profile if you want to follow!

Love you guys SO MUCH.


	17. Petunia Dursley (2028)

Well...this was a sort of unexpected "part three" of the very few oneshots I've written about Petunia! Anyway, it's a bit nicer to her than I usually am, but...well, it's her birthday! ;)

Happy birthday, Tuney.

* * *

18 March 2028

"I don't know, Dudley…are you sure about this?" Maryann bit her lip and looked into the sitting room, where Petunia sat in her wheelchair, knitting and looking very sour. Her thin lips were drawn tightly over her horsey teeth and her stitches were worryingly tight. "She looks very anxious."

"Look, this whole birthday tea wasn't my idea," Dudley reminded her rather grumpily as he sliced cheese for sandwiches. Maryann didn't often see him tense in this way, but they were both beginning to feel the strain of having Petunia live with them. There were some days when Maryann was fairly certain she wasn't ill at all, to tell from the way she could spot dust from across the room and vociferously make everyone aware of it. Dudley was counting the sliced cheese. "Whatever Harry said to her in the hospital got her thinking she wanted to see him again, and _she _made me arrange it. Still don't know why, maybe she's finally gone mad…"

"Darling," Maryann murmured. "It's her birthday." She rubbed his arm, and he relaxed.

"Sorry," he replied, enveloping her in a hug. "Sorry."

She kissed his cheek. "You know you don't need to apologize. It's almost four, why don't you give Daisy a call and see where she is?"

Dudley nodded and walked out of the kitchen. Maryann set about finishing the sandwiches, occasionally glancing over her shoulder at Petunia, who was pausing from her knitting every now and then to gaze out of the window. At last, she carried the tray of biscuits and sandwiches into the sitting room and smiled at her.

"All right, Petunia? Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you," she replied absently. She was frowning out the window.

"Do you mind if I move your chair a bit, so we can squeeze in some more seats?" Maryann asked.

"Yes, yes, fine," Petunia said, rather impatiently. Then she looked up at Maryann, startled, as though she had only just heard her. "More seats?"

"Well, you said you wanted to see Harry _and_ his family," Maryann replied, wheeling her to a spot nearer the fire. "As I understand it, he's bringing all of them. It'll be him, Ginny, Albus, James, and Lily." Petunia made a sniffing noise and drew a deep breath. Maryann felt rather bad for being so brusque. She laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure I can't bring you anything?"

Petunia rested her chin on her hand. "No, we'll be having tea soon enough." She seemed to shake herself. "Thank you, dear. When are they arriving?"

Maryann consulted her watch. "Half-past. Daisy should be here any moment."

As it always did when her granddaughter was mentioned, Petunia's expression lightened. Dudley walked into the room. "She's coming up the road right now, actually," he said, settling himself in the seat beside Petunia's. He reached for a sandwich, but Maryann swatted his wrist.

"Wait until the Potters are here, Dudley," she chided him. He shrugged and looked at his mother, reaching out to touch her arm.

"All right there, Mum?"

Petunia nodded, though she was frowning. At last, she looked at Dudley. "Am I being stupid?" she asked.

The question was so unexpected, so very unlike Petunia, and her tone was so vulnerable and soft, that Maryann's mouth fell open. Dudley seemed to be trying not to gape at her as well. "Er," he stammered. "Er—well…"

A shrill beeping interrupted him, and Maryann jumped. "Sorry! It's just my mobile," she explained, hurrying into the kitchen. She was grateful for the distraction; this was a conversation for Dudley and his mother alone. She took extra time with sorting out Petunia's afternoon pills so she wouldn't have to hear any of it. Once she'd collected them into a little dish, she came to the swinging door into the sitting room and paused.

"…too late," Petunia was saying.

"Well, you won't know unless you try, Mum," Dudley said. For some reason, he sounded annoyed.

"But what do you think, Diddy?" she asked desperately.

Dudley gave a sigh. "I think that you're in your seventies, Mum, and…you're still mad about things that happened ages ago, with people who are dead. I mean, your _sister_ has been dead for, what, fifty years? And you're angry at her for something that happened when you were _kids_?"

Maryann's jaw dropped. She had never heard Dudley speak so sharply to his mother.

"But I also think," he continued, "That you're not too late to make up for it. I know we—you, me, _and_ Dad—weren't good to Harry, pretty much ever. But there's a reason Harry and I had our kids play together, growing up, and there's a reason he came to see you in the hospital, and I think there's a reason you wanted me to arrange all this for your birthday."

Maryann heard a sniffle. Was Petunia crying?

"Come on, Mum," said Dudley, a little more gently. "It's not too late."

There was another sniffle. "No, it's not," Petunia agreed, "Not yet, anyway." Maryann laid a hand over her heart, closing her eyes. Then a sudden knocking at the kitchen door startled her. Daisy stood just outside, beaming at her.

Maryann smiled and moved to unlock it. "Hello, darling," she said, giving her a hug.

"Granny up and about? Are they here yet?" she asked, shrugging out of her coat quickly.

"Your grandmother's in the sitting room with your father—oh, Daisy, are those for her?" Maryann asked, gesturing to the bright white and violet bouquet of petunias she held.

"Mhmm, I thought they'd cheer her up," Daisy said brightly, kissing Maryann's cheek and hugging her again. Then she held up a smallish, flat box. "Lily's coming today, right?" she asked. "I bought her a scarf like the one I wore at Christmas—she and I had tea last week and she said she really liked it, and she can't ever find scarves she likes that are light enough for warmer weather. I told her I don't think she _needs_ to cover that scar, it makes her look rather daring," Daisy laughed, "but I brought her one anyway. She'll be here, right?"

Maryann stared at her chattering daughter, momentarily stunned. "Y-yes," she said at last. "Yes, she's coming."

"Oh, good," Daisy said happily, moving to fill a vase with water for the flowers. "Did you know she's having her last surgery soon? Or—treatment, I guess, I can't remember what she calls it," she added, her back to Maryann. "I think it's brilliant, she'll stop being so worried about her voice, now. It's too bad Al's got to be away while she's in the hospital, though. He and James have always been there for her before. I know he's worried about it. I guess Lorcan—oh, do you know Lily's boyfriend? Well, he can pick up the slack, don't you think?"

Maryann held a hand over her mouth for a moment, watching Daisy. She chanced a peek into the sitting room. Petunia was gazing down at her folded hands, looking worried beyond belief. Dudley had a reassuring hand on her back. Maryann looked back at Daisy, who was still chatting merrily as she arranged the flowers. She picked up the small vase and came over to her mother.

"Are those Gran's?" she asked, pointing to the little cup of pills in Maryann's hand.

She nodded, and held them out. "Why don't you bring them to her? And—sweetheart, tell her all about what you just told me. I'm sure she'd like to hear it."

Daisy frowned skeptically. "Really?"

Maryann nodded. "Go on. I'll get her a glass of water." Daisy looked pleasantly surprised and smiled, shaking her blonde curls back from her sweet, round face. She took the pills and gently pushed the door open, peering into the sitting room.

"Happy birthday, Granny!"


	18. Bellatrix Lestrange (1997)

Well...like twelve people said I should include her.

Be careful what you wish for.

* * *

21 March 1997

_Mother—_

_School is fine. I've been very busy and unable to write to you._

_No need to worry. I'll see you at King's Cross on Saturday._

_Draco_

Narcissa sighed unhappily and raked a hand through her hair, resting her elbows on the breakfast table. She had barely slept at all last night. She had sat through yet another meeting of the Death Eaters; Bellatrix was keen on keeping the Dark Lord interested in maintaining the Manor as his headquarters, and though Narcissa bore no Dark Mark, she was expected to appear as the hostess. It made her feel sick, because she was always extremely aware that she was the butt of some joke she was not privy to, and she had a feeling it had to do with Lucius.

Her one joyful hope was that Draco would finally write back to her, and that had allowed her to sit through the entire evening. When she'd come downstairs just a few minutes ago and seen Theseus, his eagle owl, perched on the dining room windowsill, her heart had soared.

Now, after reading Draco's pitifully brief note, she felt worse than ever.

"Well, you look glorious this morning."

Narcissa glowered at Bellatrix, who had just sashayed into the room, looking particularly malevolent. "Not now, Bella."

She dropped herself into the seat nearest Narcissa's, snatching away Draco's letter before Narcissa could hide it. "Ooh, sounds like baby needs a nap," she laughed coldly, tossing it back on the table. "What's got his wand in a knot?"

Narcissa gave her a look of pure loathing. "You know perfectly well what."

Bellatrix scoffed and gave a little shrug, helping herself to a heaping plateful of sausage, eggs, and kippers. "You have to be nice to me today, Cissy. It's my birthday."

"Many happy returns," Narcissa said icily.

Bellatrix gave her a wide-eyed, sympathetic look. "Now, darling, I know you miss Lucius, but that's no excuse to be surly." She flicked her long, dark hair back and gave Narcissa a smile before taking a particularly vicious bite of kipper.

"Ugh, close your mouth, Bella," Narcissa said. "Honestly."

"You sound like dear old Mummy," Bellatrix laughed. "How sweet. Is that how you tell off darling Draco, too?" She snickered and picked up the newspaper that Narcissa had abandoned.

"He hasn't said anything—_anything—_about getting blamed for poisoning that Weasley boy, and Severus said he thought Potter suspected him again! I can't believe he'd be so careless as to hurt another student—I can't believe he's—I—I—" she felt a wave of nausea and buried her face in her hands.

"Oh, you make everything sound so dire," Bellatrix groaned, "he's just been given an assignment."

Narcissa stared at her. "Murder?" she asked. "That's an assignment?" The blank look in her sister's eyes made Narcissa feel ill.

"You really should stop giving him such a hard time," Bellatrix said. "Children push away overbearing mummies, you know."

Narcissa clenched her teeth. "I think I remember someone doing that."

Bellatrix's lips curled in a cold smile. "Don't worry. Draco will have the old imbecile dispatched in no time—"

"Stop!" Narcissa snapped, slapping her hand on the table.

"Oh, so squeamish, Narcissa, really. It's unbecoming," Bellatrix replied.

"Fine," Narcissa murmured, giving in. She covered her face and rubbed it hard with both hands. "Fine."

"Aren't you going to ask me what my special birthday plans are?" Bellatrix popped a bit of egg in her mouth.

Narcissa gave a dry, humorless laugh. "You haven't celebrated your birthday since you were nine."

"Rodolphus is taking me out," Bellatrix replied. "I need you to help me get ready."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, fix my hair, do my robes, everything like that," she said. Her dark eyes lit up in a manic sort of way that made Narcissa feel rather nervous. "Come on, Cissy, it'll be fun."

She narrowed her eyes. "Bellatrix, where is Rodolphus taking you?"

"Some little Muggle village," she replied, running her tongue over her thin lips. "It's the full moon, tonight, and Greyback's coming with us…" Narcissa gave a cry of disgust and stumbled out of her chair, fleeing the dining room as Bellatrix's hysterical laughter rang in her ears.


	19. James Potter (1980)

Okay, so I know that Lily's sacrifice is a major centerpiece of the story, don't get me wrong...but did anyone else ever feel like maybe James didn't get *quite* all of the credit he deserved? Don't misunderstand, I have nothing against the respect/love afforded to both of them, but...I mean, James basically threw himself in front of Voldemort without a wand. He knew what he was doing, the same as Lily did. I dunno, I just sometimes think that maybe that's not given the honor it deserves.

Happy birthday, James. You were a good dad.

* * *

27 March 1980

"Mm," James mumbled, his face buried in Lily's thick red hair. "You smell good, Evans." He moved a hand down under their quilt and rubbed her round belly. "G'morning," he said happily.

"Morning," Lily replied quietly, patting his arm.

James frowned, raising his head slightly. "All right, Lily? Hang on—" he reached behind him for his glasses and put them on; her face was rather blurry.

She looked up at him, her beautiful green eyes ringed with purple shadows. "I'm fine," she said softly, putting a hand up and touching his cheek. She gave him a faint smile and kissed him gently. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

James sighed. "Did you sleep at all?"

She nodded. "A bit. I'm all right."

He kissed her shoulder. "You know you have to sleep, right? Otherwise the baby will come out looking like a raccoon." Lily snorted and smiled, and so did James. "_There_ she is."

"I'm sorry," she replied. "I didn't mean to be gloomy."

"Still thinking about yesterday?" he asked. Lily didn't say anything. "It's all right if you are. I wasn't expecting to run into your sister and dear old Vernon, either."

"She wouldn't even look at me," Lily whispered.

"Well, she might not have _seen_ us," James reasoned. "We were pretty far down the road."

"I saw her," Lily replied, as though this were reason enough for Petunia to have noticed her. James rubbed her shoulder, and she gave a whimper, sniffling. "I didn't even know she was pregnant. She's even farther along than I am, and she didn't mention it—she sent me that horrible vase on my birthday—she didn't even write it on the card." She buried her face in her pillow, giving a little sob.

James hugged her close and kissed the back of her neck. "I'm sorry, Lily."

She sniffled, turning over awkwardly onto her back. "It's not your fault. I'm sorry. This is no way to start your birthday."

James felt a twinge of discomfort; he never knew how to react to Lily's relatives. He truly disliked Vernon and Petunia, but over the last few years, he had come to understand that Lily desperately loved her sister and wanted to get along with her. He tried very hard to reconcile these two very disparate impulses.

He put out a hand, feeling Lily's forehead and putting on a thoughtful frown. "Hmm," he said. "_Hmm_."

Lily smirked. "What?"

"You seem to be running a fever," he said seriously. "But don't worry, I have just the thing."

"Do you?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows.

James nodded smartly. "A bed day."

"Oh," Lily said, biting her lip. "I don't know. Do you think I can stand a risky treatment like that?"

He rubbed her belly. "I'm willing to take the chance, if you are."

"I trust you, Healer Potter," she said, giving him a kiss. Then she shrieked with laughter as James tickled her. "Ah! You great prat, stop it! Get off me!" He laughed, leaning down and kissing her. When he pulled back, she placed her hands on either side of his face. "Are you sure this is how you want to spend your birthday?" she asked.

"Well, pretty soon, I won't have you all to myself anymore," he said, rubbing her belly again. "We'll have a little niffler rooting around the place." Lily shoved his shoulder. "I mean, an adorable, fluffy little niffler. That I can't wait to meet."

"That's better, Potter," she said, grinning. "It's half your niffler, too, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," James replied, and Lily laughed. He leaned in and kissed her again. "No more tears?"

She shook her head. "Not on your birthday. I promise."

"Well, I was hoping for no more tears _at all_, but that'll do," he said. Lily rolled her eyes. "What? I thought that was pretty good!"

"Do you and Wormy and Padfoot and Moony just sit around coming up with the cheesiest, goofiest lines for girls? Is that what I'm missing on these Marauders' nights of supposedly _epic_ events?" she asked.

"Er," James said, purposefully looking hesitant, "Sure, let's go with that."

Lily gave a huge sigh, stretching and folding both arms behind her head. James adjusted himself to rest his head on her belly and grinned at her. "What am I going to do with you?" she asked, tangling her fingers in his hair. "I had no idea marrying _you_ meant marrying all four of you."

"You obviously didn't read the fine print on that contract I gave you," James told her, and she laughed. She wiped her eyes one last time.

"I have a birthday present for you," she said. "Well, actually, it's only a present if you actually like it."

He frowned. "Okay."

"Oh, don't look so skittish," Lily told him. "I thought of some baby names."

"Oh," said James, surprised. "Okay—brilliant. You know I lost that bet to Sirius, though, so our firstborn has to be called something in Troll…"

"Harry," Lily said.

James blinked. "What?"

"Harry," she said again. "Harry James Potter, for a boy."

"Y-you want to—to name him after me?" he asked.

Lily smiled. "Well, you'd be his daddy. And I rather like the sound of Harry James, don't you? And then, I was thinking something like…Emily Sarah, for a girl. For my mum. James?"

He was completely out of his head, gazing in shock at Lily's belly. Somehow, in the last thirty seconds, the little bump had become a human being—_their_ human being. "Harry," he said, laying a very gentle hand on Lily's middle.

Lily smiled. "Yeah," she said. "I think he's a boy, too." James was still processing the astounding metamorphosis that had just taken place inside his head; he felt Lily's fingers combing through his hair again. "Happy birthday, then, James." He met her eyes; they were still a little sad, still ringed with dark circles of worry about her sister, but she was looking at him as though he was all she could ever want in the world.

"Best birthday present ever," James said seriously, and Lily beamed.


	20. Fred & George Weasley (1978)

Well, we have our beloved twins' birthday today! YAY TWINS! YAY APRIL FOOLS' DAY!

Jeez I love Fred and George. This is their very first birthday together, of course. :) One of two special chapters, for the twinsies.

* * *

1 April 1978

Molly opened her eyes slowly and smiled. Arthur, who was right beside her bed, leaning over the nearby bassinet. "Good lads, good lads," he murmured to the two small, squirming blue bundles inside. Then he saw that Molly was awake and grinned at her, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "How are you?" he whispered.

"I'm grand," she chuckled. Arthur held a finger to his lips.

"About four more women are in here, too," he said, blushing slightly. "Fred was crying a lot earlier, I thought one of the husbands was going to hex me." He laughed, but looked uncomfortable. "We got a busy ward, I'm afraid."

"I don't mind," Molly told him. "Come here, let me see these babies."

Arthur smiled and got up, as Molly sat up and put a pillow on the blankets before her. He laid baby Fred on the pillow, and then picked up squirmy little George and placed him beside his brother. Their tiny faces crinkled as they yawned simultaneously and looked at one another. Molly laughed softly, reaching forward to rub George's peachfuzz tuft of light ginger hair. Arthur sat down beside her and kissed her cheek.

"Feel good?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, I feel great," she replied. Fred screwed up his little face and gave a cry, so she picked him up; at once, George gave a wail. Molly laughed as Arthur lifted George and held him where he could see his twin.

"They've cried every time I've tried to hold just one," he told her. Molly smiled and nodded. "Fabian and Gideon were like this, I think," she murmured, lying back and turning slightly onto her side, making sure that Fred and George were within each other's sight lines. "My mum always said, from the second they were born, the boys never wanted to be more than ten inches away from—"

With a metallic rasping sound, the curtains around the bed flew open.

"Merlin's best briefs, would you look at that?" gasped Gideon, pointing dramatically at Molly.

"Hey, is anyone on this ward missing a baby?" asked Fabian loudly, looking all around. "This witch has got two!"

"Will you two _hush?"_ Molly hissed. She looked helplessly at Arthur. "Come here, and be quiet!" Fabian snorted with laughter as Gideon drew the curtains. They each came around one side of the bed to admire the babies.

"Aw, Molly," Gideon said quietly, leaning over the twins, who had been settled their pillow once again. "They're brilliant. Hey mates," he said, putting out a finger to brush George's hand. "What are you calling them?"

"Fideon and Gabian," said Fabian indignantly. "Of course."

Molly rolled her eyes and took Arthur's hand. "They're Fred," she said, pointing to one, "And George."

Gideon's face lit up with a grin. "Fred and George? Fabian—Fred and George! Molly!"

"Don't thank me, it was Arthur's idea," she said, giving him a wink. "I liked Ronald."

"Well, I didn't want my kids saddled with a name like Gideon, did I?" Arthur laughed. Fabian elbowed him and scooped up little Fred, laughing.

"Hi, Fred! All right, mate?"

Molly, who was keen to avoid noisy tears, put out a hand to stop him. "Oh, Fabi—"

"Nice work, Molly," said Gideon. He had picked up George and was cradling him, standing on the other side of the bed. Molly blinked; neither baby was crying, despite their separation.

"Yeah, you did all right," Fabian agreed. Molly just stared from him to Gideon; Fred and George were, it seemed, completely content. George put up a hand and snatched at Gideon's chin. Fred gave a few grunts and wriggled around in Fabian's arms.

"Well, now they _have_ to babysit," said Arthur, leaning close to Molly's ear and kissing her gently.

Fabian and Gideon had moved to the end of the bed, and Fabian was now addressing both babies seriously. "Right, first thing you have to know: there are responsibilities, gentlemen, that come with having a birthday on the first of April…"


	21. Fred & George Weasley (1998)

Their last birthday together - in typical Fred and George fashion. :)

* * *

1 April 1998

"George. George. _George_."

"Go away."

"No."

"It's barely dawn."

"Hardly," Fred scoffed, pushing himself up on his sofa beside George's.

"You're annoying."

"Is that any way to talk to your one and only twin on this holey-est of days?" George lifted up his pillow and grinned at Fred, squinting in the bright spring sunlight that streamed through the window of Aunt Muriel's upstairs parlor. "Happy birthday, you git." He rolled over, preparing to go back to sleep, when he heard a sudden threatening creak of springs.

"No, Fred—!" was all he managed to cry out before a massive weight landed directly on his shoulder blades.

Fred had launched himself out of bed and sat on his back. "And to you, Mr. Weasley!" he shouted jubilantly, as George flailed desperately, trying to get away. "Quit struggling! I love you!"

George seized Fred's ankle and flipped him backwards over the side of the couch. He hit the floor with a thud and George scrambled to his feet, ready to defend himself. Fred sat up and shook his head vigorously; then, with a fiendish smirk, he sprang at George again.

It was in the midst of some truly vicious wrestling—Fred held George in a half nelson, while George had somehow managed to seize hanks of Fred's hair in both fists—that the parlor door opened. A disheveled and sleepy-looking Ginny stood on the threshold, staring inquisitively at the twins.

"Morning, Gin!" Fred said merrily, tightening his hold on George's shoulders.

"What are you doing?" she asked, though she spoke as though she didn't truly want to know the answer. She rubbed one eye and yawned. "You're going to wake Muriel in a minute."

"It's traditional," George managed to wheeze—it was rather difficult to speak, as Fred had forced him down to the floor and pressed his face into the carpeting. "Birthday…wrestling…"

Ginny blinked and stared at them; George was firmly pinned underneath Fred. Then she gave a little sigh and turned to leave, shaking her head and muttering. "Making _piles_ of Galleons, the idiots…"

"She's got a point," mumbled George, trying to look up at his brother.

Fred frowned down at him seriously. "No, she hasn't." And he seized a throw pillow and hit George over the head.

"You stinking flobberworm, that's cheating!"


	22. Teddy Lupin (2009)

Happy birthday, Teddy! :) hehehe what a cutie.

* * *

4 April 2009

"Ted? Hey, Ted? You out here, mate?"

Teddy sucked in his stomach, holding his breath and closing his eyes. Hurriedly, he wiped his tears away. Perhaps if he stayed very still, Uncle Harry wouldn't find him. The garden at the Burrow was very large, after all…

"Are you hiding, Ted?"

Teddy looked up. Uncle Harry was standing directly over him, with Lily in his arms. Her red curls swayed as she leaned over, reaching out for Teddy.

"It's okay if you are," he said, crouching down on his knees and sitting on the ground. He set Lily on her feet and she wobbled over to Teddy with her chubby hands outstretched.

Ted leaned forward and pulled her into his lap. She giggled. "I'm not," he said cautiously. It wasn't exactly a lie; Uncle Harry could spot those in about a second, he knew, and he would have been a fool to try one. "I just fancied…being by myself a while."

"Daisy," said Lily, holding out a clump of grass she had just pulled up. Teddy had recently been trying to teach her the names of flowers and plants, but she had gotten stuck on 'daisy,' because it was a word she recognized—her Muggle cousin's name. Ted took the grass and grinned at her.

"Close enough, Pix," he told her. She gave a peal of laughter, her tiny teeth fully visible in a broad grin.

"Ted," said Uncle Harry, "Why don't you come back inside with us?"

Teddy shrugged. "I…don't want to," he said.

Uncle Harry frowned. "Are we making you nervous, talking about school?"

He shrugged again. "Kind of. I guess." Lily pulled up a few more blades of grass and presented them to Teddy, babbling happily. "I thought your Hogwarts letter was supposed to come when you turned eleven."

"Hoggorst," Lily shrieked, clapping her hands together and laughing hysterically.

"Well, you _are_ eleven, Ted," said Uncle Harry. "But that's just a general timetable. You probably won't get your letter until early summer. Your gran was only teasing when she said she thought it would come today."

"But you know Professor McGonagall!" Teddy insisted. "Can't she just—send it? Can't they make an exception?"

Uncle Harry smiled. "I don't think Hogwarts is big on exceptions, mate," he said. Teddy snorted; Uncle Harry was _always_ an exception.

"Hoggorst, bigguh 'sepshuns," Lily said seriously to Teddy, imitating her father. She raised a finger in his face. _"Mayt." _Then she pushed herself up, balancing with one chubby hand on his knee, and tottered away to admire the garden. Uncle Harry chuckled, but faced Teddy with a much more serious expression.

"What's going on, huh, Ted? Your gran says you've been gloomy all week, and I don't think it's just about your letter," he said. "We've all known for years that it's coming."

Teddy shrugged one shoulder. "I dunno. I'm just nervous, I think." He plucked at the lace of his trainer. "And…I was thinking…I might not be…if my dad was here," he mumbled. A lump filled his throat, and he kept his eyes away from Uncle Harry's face.

They were both quiet for a few moments. A light breeze blew through the sunny garden, carrying a smell of springtime. Lily gave a sudden squeal of delight and did a kind of hopping dance of excitement; a butterfly was fluttering around her head. Teddy couldn't help a bit of a smile.

"Right," Uncle Harry said slowly. "I…can understand that."

Teddy chanced a look at him from under his own fringe of turquoise blue hair. He knew—and had known, for quite a while—that his Uncle Harry, out of all the people he loved and who loved him, could understand how he felt best of all. For all of his life, he had trusted his godfather to be honest with him in ways that, Teddy felt, neither his grandmother nor anyone else in his family felt comfortable.

He glanced away from Uncle Harry quickly and held out his arms to Lily, who came spinning over to him, beaming as she threw her little arms around his neck.

"You know," said Uncle Harry, "Your dad taught me a lot about being nervous and scared."

Teddy frowned as Lily sat down in his lap, spreading out before her all of the grass and leaves she had collected. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he was a brave wizard," said Uncle Harry, "and he taught me to be brave, too."

"So if he was here, he _would_ know what to do," Teddy said glumly, letting out a sigh. "Right."

"Well…yes," Uncle Harry replied. "And you and I both know just how unfair it is that he and your mum can't be here for you." Tactfully, he kept his eyes on Lily, who had gotten herself up again and gone wandering off behind a shrub, humming and babbling to herself.

Teddy nodded. His godfather was an exceptionally good person to talk to, mainly because he could just listen, and not offer suggestions. Sometimes, Teddy just wanted to be heard. However, the honest talks they had often meant that Uncle Harry expected a lot of him: namely, that he could pull himself out of his darker moods, which, Uncle Harry had always told him, was important.

"Uncle Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Did you ever feel like…maybe just knowing how much—how much everyone liked your parents—like maybe that wasn't enough?"

Uncle Harry met his eyes seriously. "All the time."

Teddy gave a huge sigh. "I think about them a lot, on my birthday."

"It's a good time to do it. Did you know that the night you were born, I was at Bill and Fleur's, and your dad—"

"'Practically knocked down the door,' yeah, I remember," Teddy finished. He looked away. Quite suddenly, Lily gave a shriek, and he and Uncle Harry looked around; she was running in fright from a gnome. He put his arms out and caught her before she could fall, and she hid herself against his chest.

Uncle Harry grinned. "Don't tell Al and James, but I think you're her favorite, mate. You're really good with her. Better than I was, when you were a baby." Heat flooded Teddy's cheeks; he could feel a scarlet blush creep up his neck. "Really," he continued. "I mean, I barely knew which end was up when it came to you."

Teddy laughed. "Oh, come on."

"And you were always turning your hair every bloody color, it used to make me dizzy…"

Teddy looked down at Lily, who was laughing again. She laughed any time he did; it always made him smile, and he liked to think she knew that.

"Tuddy," she said fondly, reaching up and patting his cheek. "Haburthday."

"Thanks, Lily," he replied, giving her a hug.

Uncle Harry looked at his watch. "You know, it's almost time for cake, mate."

Teddy bit his lip. "Do you mind if I stay out here? Just for a bit. I'll come back in, I promise." Uncle Harry nodded.

"Sure. You're all right, though?"

He nodded. "I just want to…have a think. That's all. So I'm not gloomy anymore."

Uncle Harry got up, dusting his trousers. "Come on, Lily-girl, let's leave—"

"Noooo," Lily whined, squeezing Teddy tightly. "Noooo, Daddy! Wanna stay wuh Tuddy!"

Teddy snorted. "It's fine with me," he said. "She'll be okay."

"All right," said Uncle Harry. He winked at Teddy. "See you in a minute, mate." And he walked away, leaving Teddy and Lily alone. Lily had started picking up her discarded plant life again.

"De daisy, Tuddy, see? See?" she said, holding up a fistful of leaves. "De daisy."

"Yeah," he said. "Good job, Pixie." Lily grinned, showing off her little teeth again. "Hey, Lily."

She furrowed her brow, frowning seriously at him. "Tuddy."

"Did you know that the night you were born, I was sleeping over at your house? I woke up in the middle of the night, and all of a sudden, there you were…"


	23. Rolf Scamander (2000)

Wheeeewww! Happy birthday, Rolf Scamander! I have no idea who you are or what's cool about you, but YAY BIRTHDAY! :D And YAY LUNA!

* * *

7 April 2000

"Happy birthday, Rolf!"

Rolf was so startled by the gust of wind from the open door, coupled with Luna's sudden arrival, that he nearly fell off the ladder he stood on. "Hi," he gasped, as she shut the shop door and grinned up at him. "H-how are you?"

"I'm fine," she replied, setting her enormous orange bag on a countertop and digging through it. "Is your father in yet?"

"N-no, I opened up today—the research office is locked, though, he has to take the charm off the door," said Rolf, coming down from the ladder.

Luna shrugged. "That's all right, I knew I was a bit early." She kept rummaging through her bag. "Anything I can help with down here?"

"Er…no, I don't think so," he said, shaking out of his reverie. He hurried down the ladder. "But I just put a kettle on, if you'd like some tea?"

"I would, thank you," she replied, at last turning to face him. She held a wrapped box in her outstretched palm. "Here you are. Happy birthday."

"Wow—thanks, Luna." Rolf took the box, feeling a blush creeping traitorously up his features. "You didn't have to—I mean, that was—that was—"

"Open it," she urged him.

So he untied the ribbon and lifted the lid away to see a large, misshapen orange radish. He frowned.

"You said you'd never heard of a dirigible plum," Luna said, beaming. "This is a charm to ward off Wrackspurts."

Rolf lifted the large piece of fruit out of the box by the chain on which it hung. "Er…do I wear it?" he asked, hoping he sounded more enthused than bewildered.

"You don't have to," Luna laughed, "Although I like to." She gestured unnecessarily to the pair of earrings she wore. "You could just hang it on the wall."

Rolf grinned at her. "Thanks, Luna."

She shrugged. Was that a faint hint of a blush on _her_ cheeks? "That's all right," she told him, looking away from his eyes. She took the charm from his hand—her fingers left tingling warmth where they brushed his hand—and moved to hang it from the corner of a framed map on the wall. As she did, the shop door blew open; Rolf's father arrived, holding his cap on his head.

"Morning, all! Can you believe this wind?" he chuckled. He lifted his bushy gray eyebrows at them both. "What have you two been up to?"

Luna caught Rolf's eye and smiled.


	24. Lavender Brown (1999)

It's Lavender's birthday! YAY! I love ya, girly!

And, since _invariably_ I have received a note from at least three people every time I mention Lavender living through the war, I feel compelled to say this: she's only dead in the movies, which I feel was a collateral device for Colin Creevey (since they dispensed with his character and made a new, replacement-Colin instead. Never really got that). If you actually want to read the compendium of all the reasons I'm sure Lavender survived...well, you know what to do. Anyway, point is, in the books it's open-ended, and **I stick to the**** books.** So if I see one more "Lavender died" message, I will make the wild assumption that you have only watched the films and you shall be scourged with a wet noodle! ;)

YAY LAVENDER RANT OVER HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAVENDER! Don't worry, **I **don't hate you!

* * *

10 April 1999

There was a split-second every morning, right before she woke up, when Lavender was blissfully unaware of the scars that covered half of her body. She forgot about the war, about Fenrir Greyback, about the fact that any of it had even happened; she was eleven years old again, waking up in her same familiar dormitory, ready to have breakfast, go to class, and probably get told off with Parvati more than once for talking in Transfiguration.

Unfortunately, there was the second _after_ that one, when she felt the now-familiar tingle of pain across the scarred skin of her right arm, the right half of her face—even down her leg—and she remembered everything.

"Morning, Lav," Parvati said merrily, directly in her ear. Lavender winced and dragged her blankets over her head. "Rise and shine, birthday girl!"

"Happy birthday, Lavender," chorused Ginny and Hermione from different points across the room; it seemed that the whole dormitory was awake except for her.

"Someone's got presents," Parvati teased, prodding Lavender's hip through the comforter. "Come on, up you get!"

Slowly, reluctantly, Lavender pulled back the covers and wriggled to sit up against the headboard. She gave Parvati a faint smile. "Thank you," she said.

"It's not every day you get to have your nineteenth birthday at Hogwarts, now is it?" Parvati giggled, sitting down on the mattress beside her and giving her a hug. "Happy birthday!"

Lavender patted her arm. "Thanks."

"This one's from me," said Parvati, hopping up and going to the pile of gifts at the foot of the bed, "And this one is from these two—" She gestured at Hermione and Ginny, who were both sitting on the ends of their own beds, eagerly getting dressed for the Hogsmeade trip.

"Happy birthday," Hermione squeaked painfully; she was trying to comb a tangle out of her hair.

"And this is from your mum, and _this_ one," Parvati continued, with great ceremony as she held up a square purple envelope from the pile, "Isn't signed." She wiggled her eyebrows eagerly.

Lavender snorted. "It's probably from my dad, that's all." For the last nine months or so, her father had been sending her cards and little gifts, trying to convince her that the reason he had left their home—just after she had been released from St. Mungo's over the summer—had nothing to do with her or her injury. It was growing rather tiresome. But Lavender saw Parvati's smile falter, and shook herself. "Thanks, you lot. This is really sweet of you."

"Enjoy, Lavender," Ginny grinned. She picked up her toothbrush and comb and left for the bathroom. Hermione followed her.

Lavender sighed and slid herself down to the end of the bed, running her fingers through her tangled hair. Parvati was watching her expectantly, so she gave her another smile and reached for her gifts.

"Oh, wow," she said, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. "Look, Mum's sent me a—oh, it's a…scarf. Wow."

"It's lovely!" Parvati cried at once. "Oh, look—the blue goes exactly with your eyes! This is beautiful, look at the pattern—"

Biting back an urge to retort angrily, Lavender reached for Ginny and Hermione's gift. She removed the paper with a bit more force than was necessary and opened the box. It was a pair of gloves, from Gladrags. Lavender stared at them for a moment. Then, to her utter confusion and irritation, tears burned the corners of her eyes, as a hot wave of anger flooded her stomach.

"Wow," she said again, putting the box aside, "That's nice."

"I remembered you said you liked them," Parvati said brightly; she seemed determined not to acknowledge Lavender's darkening mood. "When Ginny and Hermione asked me what you wanted, I told them! And look, they even go with your scarf—"

"So I can look nice and normal," Lavender muttered under her breath. Parvati fell silent at once. Lavender stood up and went to her drawers, pulling out some day clothes; the weather out seemed nice enough. Perhaps she could go walking by the lake on her own, if she could convince Parvati to go to Hogsmeade without her. She pulled out a warm jumper and tossed it on her bed.

"Um," Parvati said from where she still sat on the end of her own bed, "Lavender, you—you haven't finished—"

"I'm finished, Parvati, thanks," she said shortly. She regretted the snap at once; losing her temper often caused her a tiny jolt of pain in her scars. She heard Parvati sigh and turned around, crossing her arms. "What?"

Parvati lifted her eyebrows. "Nothing, Lav," she replied, starting to gather up the gifts and paper. She stood up.

"You've clearly got something on your mind, go on," Lavender told her.

"I haven't got anything on my mind." Parvati smiled gently at her and laid a hand on her arm. "I understand. It's okay."

"_What?"_ Lavender demanded. _"What did you just say? You 'understand'?"_ She had no idea where this outburst was coming from, but all at once, she couldn't stop it.

Parvati seemed unfazed. She narrowed her eyes. "Yes, Lavender, I do. You're upset, for what I'm sure are some really good reasons, as far as you're concerned. I'm not going to stand here and argue with you about it when all I've done is try to give you a nice birthday."

"Who says I wanted one?" Lavender demanded, and she winced, turning away to rub the side of her forehead and face.

"Look, I get it," said Parvati a little more heatedly. "You're angry about—about your dad, and—"

Lavender turned slowly around. "And what? Say it."

"And the fact that you got attacked by a werewolf," she said firmly. "You're angry about a lot of things, like everybody else, and that's fair, Lavender, but it doesn't mean—"

"Well, you're wrong," Lavender interrupted. "You're wrong, Parvati, I'm not angry about my father, because I can't be angry at someone I haven't even seen in almost a year_._ And I'm definitely not angry about any of—of _this_—anymore—" She gestured violently to her face and held up her scarred hand, "—because I have wonderful people like you, and Ginny, and Hermione, and _my mother_, who buy me all the things I need to cover up so I can look normal again as birthday presents!"

Parvati blinked. She sat down on the end of her bed. "So you're angry at me."

Lavender wanted to shout with exasperation, but the sudden throb of pain on the right side of her head stopped her, a nasty reminder that even her emotions were beyond her control. "I'm not," she said in a hard voice. She clenched her teeth tightly together and opened her eyes. "I-I'm not. I'm just…"

Parvati wiped away a tear that slid down her cheek. "Angry."

"Can you stop doing that?" Lavender asked, staring down at the floor. "Just stop acting so—understanding."

Parvati sniffed, got up, and moved to put her hands on her shoulders. "If I did that, then where would you be?" she asked seriously.

Lavender met her eyes for a moment. Then, when she couldn't stand it anymore, she pulled away and got back into bed. "I'm not going to Hogsmeade, Parvati," she mumbled, pulling her blankets around her shoulders. "You and Padma go without me. I don't feel well."

"Lavender…"

"Or go and meet Harry and Ron with everyone else, I'm sure that'd be fun," she continued, burying her face in a pillow. "I'll just get some rest. Full moon this week."

"All right. Fine," Parvati said briskly. "Lie in bed by yourself for your whole birthday." She knelt down beside Lavender's head. "But you're at least going to open your presents. I don't care what else you do, but you're doing that." Lavender glared at her, but she didn't seem to care. She placed the last two gifts—her own, and the unsigned envelope—on the bedside table and walked away.

Reluctantly, Lavender reached for the flat, square package that bore Parvati's handwriting and unwrapped it. It was a framed photograph. It was candid—she and Parvati stood in the snowy foreground with Ginny and Hermione, laughing at Dean, Neville, and Seamus who pelted one another with snowballs as the sun set over the icy lake. She blinked.

"Did—is this one of Colin's?" she asked, staring at her own giggling face. Lately, Dennis Creevey had been in the habit of bringing his brother's photographs to their subjects. It was a nice gesture, and most of the Gryffindors had taken to posting them on the notice board in the common room; Professor McGonagall, who was still head of Gryffindor House in the absence of anyone to take up the job on short notice, never once told them to take them down.

"No," Parvati said, her back to Lavender as she braided her hair in the mirror. "It's Dennis's. He took it, about three months ago."

Lavender stared at the photograph. "But…my—"

"You can't see them when you smile," Parvati informed her, turning away from the mirror to collect her coat and gloves. She looked Lavender in the eye. "It's like they aren't even there."

Lavender touched her face gently. The claw marks were there, she could feel them; slightly warmer than the rest of her cheek, they were real beneath her fingertips. And yet…in this picture, they were gone. The thought made her breath catch in her throat. Parvati looked around at her.

"Come on, open it up and I'll leave." She pointed to the envelope.

Lavender reached for it, now inexplicably nervous. She slit it open and withdrew a square of paper. It was a sketch of a lavender blossom. She frowned at it. "Er…okay." She looked up at Parvati, whose impatient expression had vanished. Her eyes were wide; she looked utterly stunned. "Parvati?"

"That prat!" she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. She seemed to be laughing. "Oh—oh, no—Lavender, I forgot," she said apologetically.

"Forgot? Forgot what?"

"Oh, I thought he'd—I thought he was too scared to do it!" she cried, wringing her hands and looking very upset. She glanced at her watch. "He's going to think you've stood him up—get out of bed!"

"What? No—no, let go! What—I'm not moving until you tell me what you're talking about!" Lavender insisted, wrenching her arm out of Parvati's grip.

Parvati clapped a hand over her eyes. "Dean," she moaned. "I'm talking about Dean."

"What about him?" Lavender asked, as her stomach gave a tiny flip.

"I set you up with him," Parvati told her. "He—we talked all about it—everything that happened at Christmas, when he was complaining about missing Ginny—he wasn't trying to be mean, he just didn't know you liked him!" she said. "So he said he wanted to take you out, and I suggested today, but I thought he got scared! He didn't tell me he was going to ask you! I am going _kill_ him! Now come on, get out of bed!" Parvati snapped, though she was half-laughing.

More out of shocked obedience than anything else, Lavender did. Parvati was pulling things from the wardrobe, assembling the perfect outfit.

"He might not be in town yet—stupid _skrewt_—sorry," she muttered to Lavender. "But _boys_, honestly…"

"Parvati."

She stopped and looked at Lavender, who, after all of the emotional stress of the last half hour, was feeling extremely strained. She had so many questions, but didn't even know where to begin. Parvati gave her a slight smile.

"It's going to be okay."

Lavender's stomach turned over again, her heartbeat speeding up at this new flicker of hope…she blinked. "Does he really want to?" she asked. Her voice sounded strangled and distant to her own ears.

Parvati sighed and took Lavender's scarred hand in her own. "The only way you'll believe me when I say _yes,"_ she laughed gently, "is if you find out for yourself. But I won't make you go. You have to do it yourself."

And, with yet another infuriating swing of her emotions, Lavender felt her chin tremble, and looked down at the floor. "You're a really good friend, Parvati," she mumbled, sniffling.

Parvati threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, I know that," she grinned, giving her a huge hug. "Come on, let's get you dressed."

But Lavender held onto her for almost a full minute more, and cried. She was angry, sad, and just generally out of sorts, and the worst of it was that nowadays, it all seemed beyond her control, and there were split-seconds when she forgot all of the _good_ things that she _did_ have.

But then there were the seconds after those ones, when her best friend knocked some sense into her and set her up on a date, and she remembered everything.


	25. Augusta Longbottom (2004)

Yayyyy Augusta! Happy birthday, lady. Augusta has always struck me as a very traditional sort, but she seems to carry quite a lot of weight on her shoulders. I don't think she liked the idea of Frank and Alice getting married young, for instance. Anywho, some notes about timing: as keeptheotherone thankfully reminded me, Minerva knew that Augusta failed her Charms O.W.L., which I have decided means that they were at school around the same time, rather than Minerva being her teacher. On this timeline here, Augusta was a year ahead of Minerva in school, and I think they were on the Quidditch team together. :) Teehee.

Happy birthday Augusta!

* * *

17 April 2004

On her seventieth birthday, Neville invited Augusta to dine in one of the private rooms above the Leaky Cauldron, which Hannah Abbott was currently in the process of purchasing. Though Augusta thought highly of the girl and of the relationship as a whole, she and Neville had disagreed on several occasions with his recent desire to move into the manager's flat with Hannah—_unmarried_.

Which was why, though she was grateful for Neville's desire to treat her, Augusta was having a rather difficult time making herself at ease as she and Neville waited for Hannah to return from the kitchen. Not for the first time, she wondered if she ought to have insisted that her birthday dinner take place at her own home. At least there, she wouldn't have to worry that at any moment, she might be cornered into agreeing that her only grandson ought to move into a flat with a girl he wasn't even engaged to.

"Wait'll you see what Hannah's got for us, Gran," Neville said, drawing out a chair for her at the candlelit table. "She's an amazing cook, you're going to love it…"

Augusta nodded once, taking her seat. "I look forward to it."

There was a noise on the stair, and Neville turned around, hurrying to help Hannah and three serving girls with their enormous platters and covered dishes. Augusta was rather surprised; this was a much grander display than she had imagined from the Leaky Cauldron—but Neville often spoke of how it was part of Hannah's ambition for the pub to enhance its style and presentation.

"Elf-made wine," said Hannah happily, beaming as she placed the bottle in the center of the table, "And pumpkin soup." A young witch brought the tray to the table and laid the first steaming bowl in front of Augusta. "Thank you," Hannah said. "I'll call if we need anything else."

"Have a nice evening," said one of the girls as they disappeared down the stairs.

"Oh, Neville," said Augusta, "Aren't you worried that our dinner will get cold?" She gestured to the dishes that had been left out, and addressed Hannah. "Perhaps you ought to send them back to the kitchen."

"Not at all!" Hannah said enthusiastically, as she poured out the wine. "You see these dishes? They're so cunning, they've got an enchantment that will keep everything warm until we're ready to eat." She glanced at Neville and grinned. "Neville found them for me."

Neville gave Augusta a smile. "Don't worry about it, Gran. Have some wine. Hannah made the soup special for you."

Augusta looked down at the bowl. "Yes, I was wondering where on earth you found a recipe for pumpkin soup. I never knew anyone but my mother who could make it."

Hannah turned a little pink.

"I gave it to her," Neville said quickly. "Well…"

Hannah sat down, tucked her napkin in her lap, and said, "He really just described to me how he remembered it tasting," she laughed. For some reason, she seemed rather tense. "I guessed from there, I hope it's all right. Neville said he liked it."

Augusta pursed her lips, giving a short sniff of approval, and lifted her soupspoon, taking a small taste. "Well," she said slowly, "I think you may have forgotten the rosemary…or perhaps you haven't used enough," she mused thoughtfully. She picked up another spoonful. "But this is most agreeable."

Looking relieved, both Hannah and Neville both picked up their own spoons and began eating. Hannah, it transpired, had spent the better part of the day preparing a five-course meal, completed by an iced carrot cake and lavender tea, which they enjoyed in armchairs beside the fireplace in the large dining room. And apart from a few points of the meal, which Augusta felt ought to be noted for the sake of improving Hannah's culinary skills, it was a very satisfactory evening.

In the heat of the fire, however, she felt her guard slipping. She was very conscious of it, as a matter of fact, but the food (which had been very good, really…) and the wine (she had probably had a bit too much, for someone of her age…) rendered her incapable of doing much about it. She felt her back relax a little more into her chair, and nearly let her cake plate slide off her lap.

"Another slice, Gran?" Neville asked, pouring out another cup of tea for Hannah, with whom he sat on the sofa. He brought it to her and kissed the top of her head gently as he sat down and hugged her close to his side. And all at once, quite by surprise, Augusta's breath caught in her throat. She stared at them for a long moment, her mouth slightly open, until Neville looked at her with concern. "Gran?"

She sat up at once, shaking off the sleepiness. "No, Neville—thank you," she said primly. She placed her cake plate on the table, hoping that neither Neville nor Hannah saw the way her hand had just trembled. "I think I had better get going—it's rather late." She got up, smoothing her dress. "This was lovely, both of you, thank you very much."

"Er, Gran—hang on," said Neville, rising. He put a hand on her arm. "Can you…sit down for a second?" Augusta stared at him. "There's something I—" Hannah cleared her throat, appearing behind him. "There's something that _Hannah_ and I want to, erm, talk to you about. Will you sit?"

Augusta felt her heartbeat speed up slightly, but she nodded. "All right." Taking her time, she resettled herself in the armchair. "I am sitting." She folded her hands in her lap. "What is this about?"

Neville took Hannah's hand as they sat down on the couch, and they shared a look; again, Augusta felt a wave of déjà vu. She steeled her nerves, almost certain as to what was coming.

"Hannah and I," Neville began slowly, "Well—we've been going out for—for almost three years, now. And—" He turned bright scarlet, and didn't seem to be able to meet Augusta's eyes. She watched him evenly. "We really love each other," he said quietly, and his hand tightened on Hannah's. "And, Gran, what we—what we want to tell you is—"

"Neville," Augusta sighed, "If this is about your living here, at the Leaky Cauldron, then I'm afraid that I am not ready to discuss it tonight. I have given you my views on the matter," she added sternly. "I do not think it appropriate—"

"We're getting married, Mrs. Longbottom."

Augusta looked around at Hannah, and for a split-second, she did not see her at all. She saw a round-faced girl, whose usually laughing eyes were filled with tears of embarrassment. And where Neville sat, she saw a blushing, angry boy, ready to fight and die for her.

Almost twenty-five years ago, Augusta had made the wrong choice. She had chosen disagreement and disapproval, and she was witch enough to admit that she had paid for that mistake, and would pay for it, for the rest of her life. And yet here she sat, faced with a chance to go over it again, and put something right.

"I thought that…maybe," Neville said slowly, "You might take to the idea better if I showed you…what it meant to me." He watched her, anxious and scared. "Gran, Hannah's parents agree. But…I can't get her to say yes unless you do, too." He smiled. "What do you think?"

"I—I think," she said, trying to regain control over her powers of speech, "I think that—" She blinked, and Frank and Alice appeared before her once more. She closed her eyes, feeling her heart twist painfully. "The fifth of July, next summer, is your parents' twenty-fifth anniversary," she said quietly to Neville. "And—if you would like me to, I would help you make all the arrangements you need." She stood up and looked directly at Hannah. "You would be a lovely summer bride."

Hannah's eyes filled with tears, but she laughed and stood up, hugging Augusta tightly. "Thank you!" she cried.

Augusta patted her back, meeting Neville's eyes over her shoulder. He looked pleasantly surprised, and gave her a smile of sheer happiness. "Of course, my dear," she said gently. "Welcome to the family."


	26. Katie Bell (1997)

Happy birthday, Katie Bell! :D

* * *

19 April 1997

"You're doing very well, Katie," said Healer Quimble with a broad smile, flicking her wand so that the roll of parchment on which her Quick-Quotes Quill had been scribbling rolled itself up and sailed into her hand. "We'll be ready to release you by the end of the weekend."

Katie grinned. "Thanks."

Her mother squeezed her hand, looking more at ease than Katie had seen her in ages. "That's _wonderful_ news."

"And I understand that it's your birthday?" the Healer asked. Katie blushed.

"She's eighteen today," said Mum proudly, brushing back a strand of Katie's hair.

"Well, many happy returns, and I hope it's a good long time before I see you back here," Healer Quimble chuckled. "I'll come by again this evening to see how things are, but don't hesitate to call if you need me. Goodbye, now!"

"Bye." Katie gave her a little wave as she left, shaking her head in amusement. At once, Mum stood up and began adjusting the bedclothes, fluffing pillows and tucking the blankets in more tightly than was really comfortable. "Mum. _Mum_."

"How do you feel, sweetheart? You look a little flushed, do you want the window open?" she asked, putting a hand gently to her forehead.

"Mum," said Katie, more firmly, "I'm fine." She gently pulled her mother's hand away and held it. "It's all right."

Her mother pressed her lips together in an anxious smile. Katie grinned, pushed off the covers, and slid gingerly out of bed to stretch, holding onto Mum's arm for a moment. "I'm just tired of staying put." She raised her arms high over her head and yawned, luxuriating in the feeling of being able to move freely; there had been a terrifying few days, just after she had regained consciousness, when she hadn't even been able to lift her head, let alone stand or walk.

It seemed, however, that this was merely the final shock of the curse wearing off—the Healers had even told her that she could play Quidditch when she got back to school again, just in time for the Ravenclaw match. Feeling fully stretched, Katie bent over and touched her toes, hanging limp for a moment.

"You have no idea how good this feels," she mumbled into her pink-pajama-clad kneecaps.

Mum laughed and patted her back. "Come on, darling, at least sit down and rest."

"I've been lying in bed for ages," Katie replied indignantly. "If that's not resting, I—" A flicker of unease crossed Mum's face, though she continued to smile. Katie shut her mouth and perched herself cross-legged on her bed. "All right, Mummy."

Her mother sat down beside her and kissed her forehead. "I'm glad you feel so well, sweetheart," she said. "Really."

Katie bit her lip for a moment—then, suddenly, she hugged her mother close. "I'm just glad I'm back," she whispered, and Mum's arms tightened around her.

"Oh, Katie—so am I," she replied, sounding rather choked.

Against her will, a few tears escaped and slid down Katie's cheeks. She put on a brilliant smile, sniffled, and pulled back. "It's okay!" she promised. "It's all okay, now."

Mum's chin trembled. "I just don't know what I would've done if…"

"Mum," Katie said, shaking her head, "Come on. It's all right."

Mum closed her eyes and gave a short sigh. "You're right. It is."

There was a knock in the doorway, and they both looked around. "Dad!" Katie cried, scrambling off the bed and running into his open arms.

"Well, good morning," he laughed, giving her a kiss. "This is a nice change!"

"Mum said I had to stop milking the performance and get out of bed," Katie said in a loud whisper, and her father laughed.

"How was Istanbul?" Mum asked, coming to kiss Dad's cheek. "What did Hamza say?"

"He's very grateful that we want to buy his stock for the shop when we can reopen, and he understands the position we're in," Dad assured her, "But he was happier to hear that Katie was all right." He tipped her a wink and reached into his pocket, producing a small bag of sweet-smelling herbs and crushed spices. "He gave me this. Eshal mixed it for you."

"It's the tea!" Katie said excitedly. The last time that she had been in Istanbul with her parents, her father's business associate and his wife had prepared a pot of the most delicious tea she had ever tasted; supposedly, there were a few magical ingredients that were hard to find in British shops, even in her parents' vast collection of exotic potion supplies.

"And this one," Dad said, rummaging in his pocket again, "is from your mum and me." He kissed the top of her head. "Happy birthday, Katie."

Katie took the little packet of gold paper; she hadn't expected presents, in all honesty. Between the cursed necklace landing her in St. Mungo's for almost five months, and her parents being forced to close their shop in Diagon Alley, money was tight. She unwrapped the paper, and a tiny silver chain slid out. It was a necklace, which bore a glass pendant of blue and white: a charm against the Evil Eye and curses of any strength. She smiled as she fastened it around her neck, feeling her lips tremble just slightly, and looked at her parents.

"Thanks." And she threw her arms around both of them. For a moment, all was silent in the hospital room, and in spite of everything, Katie couldn't have imagined being any happier than she was in that moment, with her parents close beside her. Finally, her father pulled back, clearing his throat.

"There's one more surprise, too, Katie, but—" he caught Mum's eye, and she nodded seriously, "—I think you'll have to sit down if you want to see it."

Katie laughed and rolled her eyes. "All right, all right!" she moved over to the visitors' chairs at her bedside and perched herself in one, crossing her legs beneath her. "I'm sitting, I'm resting, I've never felt better!" she said eagerly.

Her father scratched his beard, slipping an arm around Mum. "Well, it's sort of a funny story. I just found a bunch of these things, and they were all asking to see you. So I thought, _why not?"_ Katie stared at him, bewildered, but he and Mum just shared a smirk as he turned to the door and opened it. "Come in, then," he barked to someone out in the corridor.

Katie sat up—and then at once, she leapt to her feet again, shrieking, "_Angelina! Alicia!" _She ran into Alicia's open arms, laughing hysterically as they embraced.

"Oliver sends his love," she said immediately. "He was going to be here too, but Puddlemere called him up from reserves, he's got double practices now!"

"That's amazing," Katie gasped.

"Well, you're looking better than we'd heard tell," laughed another voice.

"Gred!" she squealed, now wrapped up in Angelina's arms. "Forge!"

"Addled, totally bonkers," said George, shaking his head in sympathy, but grinning as he hugged her. "How are you?"

"Fantastic, now you're all here," Katie laughed, throwing her arms around Fred. "Here, come on—Dad, are there any more chairs?"

"We'll see what we can do," said Mum gently. She smiled at Dad and took his arm, leading him from the room. "Sit down and relax, Katie."

Katie gave her a furtive smile and hugged Angelina and Alicia again as her parents left, and they all moved to sit down on the bed; Fred and George took the chairs. Once the door had closed, Fred kicked his feet up on the end of the bed.

"So _really_, Katie, you couldn't have waited just a _little_ longer to come round?" he asked, shaking his head in a disappointed way.

"Oh, shut up, you," Angelina told him, smacking his dragon-skin boot as Alicia aimed a kick at him.

"What a terrible thing to say!"

Katie was laughing. "And _why_ should I have waited, exactly?"

"So you can skip your N.E.W.T.s, obviously," said George. "We've been trying to get anyone to follow in our footsteps, but these two refused. Something about 'careers' and 'salaries,'" he scoffed and Angelina and Alicia.

Fred shook his head sadly. "Now it looks like even little Ronniekins will be sitting his exams next year. I shudder at the very idea." He gave an affected little gasp; George pretended to waft smelling salts under his nose.

Katie laughed. "I'm really glad you guys are here," she said, squeezing Alicia's hand. "Really, I just—it's all been so confusing, lately, and…this feels great."

"It'll feel really good when you're back at school again," Alicia told her firmly. "And you'll see Leanne and Kerry and everyone else."

Katie nodded, and once again, a pleasant silence settled over the room. She felt a wave of warmth spread through her stomach as she held one hand in Angelina's, and the other in Alicia's, and grinned down at the twins. Fred tilted back in his chair, grinning, his arms behind his head.

George looked perturbed for a moment, steepling his fingers under his nose. Then he met Katie's eyes seriously. "I mean, really, Bell, it was just a couple of weeks more, you could've faked that…"


	27. Winky (1983)

So did these lines ever catch anyone's eye in Goblet of Fire? "Winky talked my father into it...She said my mother would have wanted it. She told my father that my mother had died to give me freedom. She had not saved me for a life of imprisonment."

Yeah, me too. I can't quite fathom what the Crouch Sr./Winky relationship was like, but that bit always caught my eye - I get the impression that Mrs. Crouch was a bit more like a Regulus, when it came to Winky. I dunno.

Anyway, I don't know that house elves celebrate their birthdays or are even told what they are/when they are, so it doesn't really come up here. But happy birthday, Winky!

* * *

26 April 1983

"Winky."

Winky heard the call and immediately snapped her fingers; the fresh fruit scones she had just pulled from the oven would stay warm while she went upstairs. Then she snapped her fingers again and appeared in Mistress Annabel's bedroom.

"Good morning, Mistress," she squeaked, scurrying over to the bed. "Does you need anything, Mistress? Winky can bring tea—"

"No, no," said Mistress. Winky thought she looked very bad today; she wasn't even sitting up in bed, but lay very still beneath her blankets. Nonetheless, she gave Winky a smile. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Yes, Mistress? Winky will answer."

"Winky, if…" Mistress Annabel closed her eyes and took a delicate breath, shuddering slightly as though it hurt her. Winky tentatively placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Mr. Crouch and I…we are going to do something…very unusual."

Winky frowned.

"You," Mistress Annabel said, "are a surprisingly intuitive elf, Winky. You know that we've come to expect a lot of you, don't you? We expect you to look after our secrets…not just our home."

"Yes, Mistress," said Winky softly.

"I won't…pretend that this is not an order, Winky," said Mistress Annabel. "It is, very much so. But I want you to understand that…it will also be…a personal favor…to Mr. Crouch, and myself. Do you understand me?"

Winky tilted her head to one side. Mistress seemed very upset; she was out of breath. Winky wanted to help her—but Mistress might be cross if Winky interrupted her. So, she nodded.

Mistress Annabel closed her eyes again for a moment and nodded once. Then, with a great deal of effort, she pulled herself up and looked straight at Winky. "Tomorrow," she said slowly, "Mr. Crouch and I will go to Azkaban, to see Master Barty."

"Mistress," Winky gasped, "You is not well—"

"Don't interrupt me, Winky." Winky closed her mouth; she could have to punish herself for that, later. "Master Barty will be coming home tomorrow night."

"Master Barty," Winky repeated. "Master Barty is released?"

"Not exactly," said Mistress Annabel. "But he is going to come home. And Winky," she said slowly, "I need your help."

Winky's eyes widened; Mistress Annabel may have been a kind and good mistress, but never had she _asked_ Winky for anything. Not this way.

"What must Winky do, Mistress?" she asked.

Mistress Annabel lit up in a way Winky hadn't seen for months. "It will be your duty to make sure that everything I am going to tell you—and everything about Master Barty—remains a complete secret. You will do anything that Mr. Crouch tells you, in order to keep it secret. If you don't, Mr. Crouch will be disgraced. He will lose his job, and he will be sent away to Azkaban with Master Barty. Do you understand?"

Winky nodded. "Yes, Mistress…but…"

"But what?"

"Where—where will Mistress go?" she murmured. She hoped very much she wasn't reaching out-of-bounds—a good house elf did not ask questions just because they were curious, and Winky knew she was being downright nosey.

Mistress Annabel, however, did not seem to notice. "I am going to take Master Barty's place in Azkaban," she said calmly. "You know what the Healers have said for me, Winky. I…I am going to do everything I can…to make sure that my ending is—that it means a fresh beginning for him."

"Oh, Mistress," Winky whispered, putting her hands on her cheeks. She felt tears filling her eyes. "No, Mistress, no!"

"Mr. Crouch and I need you to keep this secret, Winky," Mistress Annabel said, her voice growing louder. She pushed herself up on the mattress, staring straight into Winky's eyes. "Do you promise that you will? Do you promise to keep Master Barty safe? You must promise me."

Winky blinked. "Mistress…"

"Yes or no, Winky?" Mistress Annabel asked softly.

"Yes, Mistress." Winky trembled, wringing her hands together. "Yes, Mistress, Winky will keep the secrets."

"Good," Mistress Annabel sighed, and she leaned back into her pillows again and closed her eyes.

Winky took a tentative step forward and began smoothing the blankets. She adjusted Mistress's pillow, and Mistress Annabel smiled.

"Winky," She said, looking around at her, "Go to my vanity."

Winky obeyed. "Mistress wants her potion—?"

"No," said Mistress Annabel. "Do you see my bracelet? The one with the jewel?"

"Yes, Mistress," Winky said, picking it up and bringing it to her. It was a beautiful little golden bracelet with a large, pale blue stone in it. "You wish to wear it?"

"No," Mistress said again. She lifted herself up slightly and took the bracelet from Winky. "This is for you, Winky," she said quietly, fastening the chain around her little neck; it was much too large for a house elf's wrist. "Thank you for protecting us."

Winky felt faint. She looked down at the gem that rested perfectly on her neck. "Mistress," she squeaked.

"Don't let Mr. Crouch see," Mistress said. "You know how he is. Keep it with your blankets."

"Yes, Mistress," Winky replied.

"I need to rest," said Mistress. "But I'd like a pot of tea in an hour, please, Winky."

"Winky will have it ready, Mistress." She blinked, and more tears trickled out; she wiped them away before Mistress could see.


	28. Mad-Eye Moody (1996)

Do forgive me. Your Dear Professor McGonagall has only just gotten in, and forgotten completely that it was Mad-Eye's birthday.

Did anyone else ever picture him as a bit of a gruff storyteller/joker? I mean, I know he didn't mess around when it came to business, but I figured he was always someone who appreciated the value of a good, funny story.

Anyway, happy birthday, Mad-Eye. xx

* * *

30 April 1996

Mad-Eye stumped down the stairs to the underground kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Not many people were here, considering there was a meeting due to start; Sirius and Lupin were having some kind of debate with Arthur near the sink, while Molly Weasley put out a tray of fresh-baked biscuits for the meeting. There was only one person standing by herself, nursing a mug of tea as she stared into space.

Mad-Eye moved to stand right behind her. "You stare any harder at Lupin, your eyes'll pop out," Mad-Eye growled. Tonks whirled around, dropping her mug of tea.

"Mad-Eye!" she gasped, kneeling down and waving her wand to mend the cup. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"So glad I gave you all that extra help in Stealth and Tracking," he muttered, flicking his wand to dry off his jacket. "Where's Dumbledore?"

"Running late," Tonks replied, folding her arms. "We're still waiting on…well, pretty much everyone."

"Mad-Eye," said Molly, beaming as she passed by, "Happy birthday!"

Mad-Eye grunted in response, and Tonks snickered. "Watch it," he muttered. "I outrank you, retired or not."

"Mm-hmm," Tonks agreed, "in gardening, and making tea, and sitting quietly by the fire…"

"I wouldn't have helped you with the exams at all if I'd known this is how you were going to turn out," he growled at her. Tonks put on a brilliant smile and kissed his cheek, giving him a tight hug.

"Happy birthday, you old codger," she said.

"McGonagall coming tonight? I wanted to know what's happening at the school." He moved to sit down at the table. Tonks joined him.

"No, and neither is Snape. They've got their hands full, with Umbridge running things," she replied.

"Huh. Told Dumbledore not to tangle with that woman," said Mad-Eye. "She's a snake if I ever saw one."

"I didn't realize you knew her, Mad-Eye," said Lupin, who was just coming to sit down with Sirius, Arthur, and Molly.

"Knew her? I fired her," he grunted. This statement was met with confused looks.

"What?" Tonks asked.

"She worked in the Auror Office?" said Arthur. "When?"

Mad-Eye leaned back in his chair, stretching out his bad leg stiffly. "Eh, maybe twenty years ago?"

"_Dolores Umbridge_ was training to be an Auror?" Sirius scoffed.

"Nah, not smart enough," Mad-Eye replied. "She was an assistant. _My_ assistant, until I caught her listening to a meeting I was having. She'd been kicked out of pretty much every department in the Ministry by then, so I knew what to look for by the time I got stuck with her."

"If she was getting caught by Heads of Department," said Lupin, "Why did she keep her job?"

"She wouldn't have done, if I'd gotten that Blasting Curse aimed better," Mad-Eye told him. "I'd just lost the eye, though, you know how it is."


	29. Victoire Weasley (2000)

You know how sometimes you just have those moments that are perfectly timed, even when it seems like they might not be? Yeah, me too. And now I might actually be in orbit somewhere over the moon.

Happy birthday, Victoire Apolline Weasley!

* * *

2 May 2000

It took Ginny several minutes to realize that the pounding racket she could hear was not, in fact, her own brain trying to escape from her skull. Actually, it was coming from somewhere beyond the safety and comfort of her own closed eyeballs, and she was not keen on opening them to explore its source. Then she heard a groan, five feet to her left. Hermione had apparently heard the banging, too, and was now waking up.

Ginny opened her eyes. She lay sprawled on an Oriental rug on the floor of the upstairs sitting room in Grimmauld Place. A few feet away, on her right, she could see Harry's legs sticking out from under a sofa, and Ron's arm under a coffee table. Hermione was right beside her, pressing her face hard into the carpet, as though she thought this might help the obviously splitting headache that she also had.

Several bottles of firewhisky and elf-made wine littered the floor space between them.

"We can never, ever do that—_urp_—_ever_ again," Hermione moaned. "Never, never, never…I think I'm dying…"

_Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang. _The noise seemed to come from downstairs.

"Whuzzit?" Ron whined from under the coffee table. Harry gave a low groan.

Ginny squinted at her watch and gasped. "Oh, for—" She swore loudly and staggered to her feet, feeling ill. She grabbed up her cloak and shoes, yanking a hand through her hair.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

"It's after five, my parents are going to kill me!" she said. "Oh, no—"

And she bolted from the sitting room, scrambling downstairs. The knocking—that was what it was, of course, and Ginny was willing to bet she knew exactly who was on the other side—was louder as she approached the front door and flung it open.

She hitched on a brilliant smile. "Hi, Daddy!"

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "Didn't you hear me knocking?"

"Yeah, um—you might not believe this, but—well, we all, um—" She swallowed, thinking quickly. "We fell asleep, and—and I just—you know, I was so tired form _practice_ that—"

"Never mind that, Ginny, where's Ron?" Dad demanded. "We've got to get to St. Mungo's!"

"St. Mungo's?" Ginny repeated, her stomach dropping about ten feet. "Why?"

"Fleur's in labor!" he said, looking half-mad with delight. "Now come on, where's your brother?" And he pushed past her into the house. "Ron? Ron, come down here!"

Ginny led the way into the dimly-lit sitting room, where Ron, Hermione, and Harry were all partially awake, draped across various pieces of furniture. Harry's glasses were missing. Catching sight of the bottles scattered across the floor, Ginny stepped in front of her father. "Dad, I can explain—"

"Ron! Up you get, son, I know it's early," Dad said, striding over to the sofa and hoisting Ron up by his elbow. He seemed blissfully unaware of the fact that the room reeked of drink and that all four of them were still in their day clothes. "Harry, Hermione, want to come along?"

"Come where, Mr. Weasley?" Hermione asked feebly, without lifting her head from her hands.

"Fleur's having the baby, right now!" he said exuberantly. Harry winced at the noise.

Ginny bit her lip. "Dad, I don't think…"

"Come on, you lot!" said Dad, plainly overjoyed to find them all awake. "Off we go!"

* * *

"I have no idea where my glasses are," Harry said, rubbing his eyes as they sat on sofas in the waiting area of St. Mungo's Maternity Ward. "I can't see a thing."

"That might have a bit more to do with the fact that you drank Ron under a table last night," said Hermione in a hollow voice, holding one hand over her eyes. The sun was blinding, having just risen to blast through the waiting area windows. "Literally."

"I hate you, Harry," said Ron.

"Don't you all look gorgeous?"

Ginny opened one eye and looked up. "Bill!" she gasped, leaping up and throwing her arms around him. "Is it—?"

"Yeah, it's all over," he laughed. His face was lit with happiness. "Mum and Dad are in there now."

"Boy or girl?" Ron asked. He, too, had managed to get up, and now hugged Bill.

"A girl," he said in a great rush. "Her name's Victoire, she's really—well, I just—you'll have to see. Her name was going to be Apolline—I mean, that was what we'd decided, but that was when Fleur was going to have her next week, and we weren't really expecting her to arrive _today_, but—but we just—we thought of—of everything, and we wanted to—you know—"

"Congratulations, Bill," said Hermione, cutting him off with a hug. "I'm so happy for you."

He gave another little laugh. "Thanks. Oh, come here, you!" he said, reaching out and pulling Harry in for what had to be a very rough hug. Ginny snorted.

"Wait, Victoire," Ron said. "That's…"

"Victory," Hermione said quietly. "It means victory."

And, quite suddenly, in spite of the haziness of the early hour and her slight headache, Ginny felt a lump rise in her throat. She looked first at Harry, who seemed only just to have realized what the date was. He was looking out the window of the waiting room, staring at the fierce orange of the rising sun. It wasn't hard to tell where his mind was. Hermione gave a sudden sniffle and looked down at the floor, so Ginny looked to Ron, who met her eyes.

And simultaneously, they both moved to hug Bill, together. Ginny pressed her face into his shoulder, feeling her eyes fill with tears, and she gave a tiny sob, squeezing him tighter. She felt Ron's hand pat her back. After a very long time, they all pulled away. Ron's eyes looked a little more bloodshot than they had been before, and Ginny wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

"Well," Bill said gruffly, clearing his throat. "Fleur's family will be here any minute, but…d'you two want to be the first aunt and uncle she meets?"

Ginny and Ron both looked around; Hermione was crying unashamedly while Harry held an arm around her. It was hard to tell whether he was squinting because he couldn't see or because he, too, was feeling rather emotional.

"Go on," Hermione wailed. "We'll wait right here."

Ginny laughed. "Be right back," she promised. She took Ron's hand and followed Bill down the hall to a tiny little room. Mum and Dad stood on one side of Fleur's bed, gazing down at a squirming bundle of pink in Fleur's arms. She looked up and beamed at them both; there were tears in her eyes, too.

"Come 'ere," she said, nodding at them. "Come and meet 'er."

Slowly, Ginny approached the bed with Ron still holding her hand. They looked down at the baby. Victoire's enormous, silvery blue eyes blinked beneath pale blonde lashes as she gazed back at them. But before Ginny could do anything to dislodge the lump that was back in her throat, or say how beautiful she was, Ron extended a hand and gently stroked the baby's tiny fist with one finger.

"Hi, there, Vic."

And Ginny covered her mouth with her hand and began to cry, for every reason she could think of, as the sun streamed through Fleur's hospital room window onto the most beautiful baby that any of them had ever seen.


	30. Xenophilius Lovegood (1998)

Happy birthday, Xenophilius. You're a weird, weird little man, but I think you're a pretty good dad. :)

* * *

7 May 1998

"I'm going to bed, Daddy. Good night."

Xenophilius startled out of his reverie and looked up at Luna, who held a mug of tea and stood at the foot of the spiral staircase. She beamed at him. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you, my precious one," he replied. "Good night. I love you."

"I love you too," said Luna. And she disappeared up the stairs to her bedroom.

Xenophilius gave a slow sigh and resumed staring out of the window, his eyes narrowed. The sky outside was dark and strewn with stars. It was a beautiful spring night, but his thoughts were elsewhere. A week ago, he had been gazing at the stars through the bars of a narrow window in his prison cell. Now he was back in his home, and more importantly, Luna was home, and safe, with him.

Xenophilius had been so focused on worrying about her, wondering where she was—being frightened that he would never see her again—that he had, in some ways, never imagined what it would be like once she was home again. Part of him had hoped—expected, really—that his daughter would be the same girl she always had been.

It was apparent that this was not the case.

For the last few days, Xenophilius had racked his brain, trying to find ways to talk to Luna—to find out how she truly was. He could almost hear Demetria laughing at him, from whatever realm of the beyond she now occupied, for teaching their daughter the merits of total independence and self-reliance. But in any case, never had he imagined that those lessons would cause Luna to keep her feelings from him.

Demetria…she would know what to do, now. She always had known. Xenophilius sighed and took a sip of his Gurdyroot infusion. Four days ago, when he had arrived in the Great Hall of Hogwarts and by some miracle found Luna, his heart had stopped for a moment, for he had been quite sure that he was looking at his wife, not his daughter. Ever since, the resemblance had only grown stronger.

Luna had always looked like her mother, but now she carried a measure of sadness, as Demetria always had done, that seemed to weigh her down without ever truly puncturing her spirit. Demetria's had come from the loss of her family as a child, but Luna…hers had come from witnessing a world full of cruelty tearing itself apart in war.

Xenophilius would have given anything to get Luna past this phase of shock she was in. She would get better—she would, it was her nature to see the best of everything—but it would take time. And all he could do was watch her suffer through it alone.

He wondered how much of her reticence was his own fault, as well. He had tried to turn in Harry Potter, had tried to bargain for her freedom with the lives of her friends. He didn't see how she could ever forgive him for that, and he was quite sure she knew how it had happened. He shook his head, feeling utterly stupid as his mood darkened even further.

He had certainly thought the dark times to be at an end, but…well, perhaps not just yet. Xenophilius sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, allowing his mind to relax. He would never be able to help Luna if he allowed himself to sink into sadness…and Luna _did_ need his help…she _wanted_ his help…perhaps if he thought it enough times, it would come true…

"No…"

Xenophilius sat up, frowning.

"Please leave him alone…"

He looked down at his watch. Somehow, two hours had slipped by. Xenophilius hurried out of his chair and went up the stairs. Only one light in Luna's room was on, a dim little lamp near her bed.

Luna was curled on her side beneath her quilt, asleep but dreaming. She looked worried, and shook her head as he came nearer. "No, please…"

Xenophilius sat down next to her and took her hand. "Luna, my love, wake up," he told her. "Luna?"

She opened her eyes, clearly startled. "Oh," she gasped, and she sat up at once and hugged him. "Daddy, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" he asked, patting her back. "For what?"

"I didn't mean to wake you," said Luna. She pulled back. The faint purple shadows under her eyes were particularly noticeable in the half-light. Xenophilius watched her sadly. "What is it?" she asked.

"My Luna," he said quietly, "I…" But he trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to speak the words, to beg for her forgiveness…not when she already had such sadness in her eyes…

"Oh," she said softly. Luna drew her knees up to her chest and stared at him sadly for a moment. "You've been thinking about Mummy."

He stroked her hair. "I always think of her when I see you. It's one of my greatest joys."

"I thought about her a lot, when I was…with Mr. Ollivander," she admitted. She hugged her knees more tightly; was it his mind tricking him, or were her arms really that thin? "I was worried about him…he was so ill. I just wished that if he truly had to die, that…she would look after him. For me."

Xenophilius couldn't speak right away. When he finally found his voice again, he croaked, "Luna—"

"I forgot about this," she said suddenly, turning to her bedside drawer and rummaging around. She produced a tiny, bright orange envelope. "I got you a birthday present."

"Dirigible Plum Seedlings," he read off the package. "Luna…"

"Well, since the garden still needs repairing," she said, "I thought that we might work on it together." Xenophilius looked at her, and she smiled. "We'll be all right, Daddy. I promise." And Luna slipped her arms around him, curling close. "I'm so glad I'm home."


	31. Albus Potter (2018)

You know what I love? "Slice of life" stories. In an homage to the elegant, goofy simplicity of (in particular) the first two books, I present a little bit of history repeating itself in its characters... Albus Severus Potter's twelfth birthday.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CUTE STUFF. I just want to hug you forever. Hope that's okay.

* * *

10 May 2018

"Happy birthday, Albus."

Al looked around at once; Emily Macmillan was grinning at him from a few seats down the Gryffindor table. When he caught her eye, she turned bright red and turned away, giggling madly. Albus, feeling confused, shook his head and returned to spreading jam over his toast.

"Albus has a girlfriend," Rose teased, directly in his ear. She slid into her seat with a cackle, and he glared at her.

"You're pure evil, I hope you know that," he informed her.

"Pure evil that's going to beat you in every exam," she beamed. Albus scoffed and Rose threw her arms around him.

"Oh, happy birthday, you git!"

"Ouch—geroff, Rose—you're messing my hair up!"

"Does that on its own, doesn't it?" James asked. He dropped onto the bench opposite Albus and tossed a small parcel at him. "Happy birthday, baby brother."

"Don't call me that," Al said ruefully, though he was already eagerly opening his present. He held it up and looked at James questioningly. "Where'd you manage to get a Dungbomb?"

"Nicked it from Filch's cupboard, of course," James said. "Be careful with it, though—save it for tonight."

"Tonight?" Albus asked eagerly. "What's happening tonight?"

"That's for me, Lou and Fred to know, and you to find out."

"If you're sneaking out again, I _don't_ approve," Rose said huffily. "You're going to get yourselves thrown out of school."

"Good thing we don't need your permission, then, Rosie," said Fred, who had just sat down with Louis. They both leaned around Rose and grinned at Albus. "Happy birthday, mate." Louis gave him a wave—his mouth was already crammed with bacon.

Rose rolled her eyes and dived under the table to find her Charms book; she'd taken to reading at meals in order to have unbroken studying time; it did no good for Albus to remind her that exams were weeks away. Rose felt that anything to do with school and rules was more important than Dungbombs and wreaking havoc the way James, Louis, and Fred usually did. Albus preferred his life to contain a little bit of both.

"Well, I hope for your sakes that Victoire doesn't find out," she said loftily, holding the book in front of her face.

"Ah, she's too busy pining over Teddy," said Fred, and even Rose laughed.

"Careful how loud you say that. Her Head Ladyship might hear you."

"Bloody hell, where are you all coming from?" Albus gasped, for Dominique had grasped his shoulders as she spoke.

She laughed. "What, you don't like spending your birthday with five of your favorite cousins?"

"I'm his brother, thanks very much," James told her indignantly.

"And everyone knows I'm his real favorite," gasped Louis, who had just swallowed his bacon so fast that his eyes were watering; he never missed an opportunity to tease his older sister.

"Glad to see you got your eyebrows grown back, Lou," said Dominique, "Have we learned a lesson about playing with baby fire crabs in Hagrid's lessons?" Louis snorted and Dominique reached into her pocket. "Anyway, Al, I only wanted to give you your present. It's from all of us, Mum and Dad, too," she said.

Al took the envelope she offered and opened it. Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur had sent him five Galleons and a card. "Thanks, Dom!" he said happily.

"Anytime," she said, rolling her eyes; she hated to be called Dom, but would never actually hex anyone for it (except perhaps Louis). There was a sudden outbreak of laughter and a huge crash of falling flatware somewhere near the Ravenclaw table. Dominique sighed and tapped her blue and bronze prefect's badge. "I'll see you all later, then. Back to the Ravenclaws…"

"You're a degenerate and the black sheep of our family!" Louis called after her, giving her a thumbs-up and a huge grin.

She returned the gesture. "But at least my eyebrows aren't growing together!"

At once, Louis put his hands to his forehead. He seized a spoon and began trying to examine his reflection. Albus grinned.

"Why do you say that to her, when you _know_ she's always going to get you back for it?" Rose asked incredulously. "Besides, it doesn't even make _sense_. Victoire is a Ravenclaw too." Louis muttered something about "the principle of the thing" and continued to wiggle his eyebrows critically in the back of his spoon.

"Mum and Dad send you anything good?" James asked Albus, diverting his attention.

"Depends…d'you think them promising to get me a broomstick this summer is good?" he asked.

"No _way!"_ Fred cried, dropping his fork with a clatter. "They're getting you a broomstick? I _just_ convinced Dad to get me a good one!"

Albus nodded excitedly and Rose lowered her book again. "Do you think you would move off of the reserve team if you had your own broom?"

"I dunno," he said, "But it can't hurt!"

Somewhere deep in the castle, the first bell of the morning rang. Everyone groaned. "Can't we get a holiday? It's your birthday," Fred groused. "Go talk to your painting friends, see if they'll make McGonagall give us the day off."

"That's likely," Albus snorted as they all scooped up their belongings; Rose's bag was overstuffed with about six extra library books. "Besides, they're more _your_ friends than mine, you three are always the ones getting sent to her office."

"Still," said a voice right behind Albus (he yelped and spun around in fright), "You get to walk around named after two of the headmasters. _And _you were born here. If anyone's going to get us Weasley-Potters a day off, it's you," Victoire told him. She slung an arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head as she and Dominique joined their group. "Happy birthday, you nasty little niffler."

"Thanks a lot, you horrible old banshee," Albus said cheerfully. Victoire grinned and flicked a long strand of blonde hair over her shoulder as she, Dominique, Albus, Rose, Fred, James, and Louis made their way out of the Great Hall.

"Here, wait a moment," she said, stopping them before they could disperse to their classrooms. They stood together at the foot of the stairs, just below the wall of memorial flags that hung over the main entrance doors. The doors were open, allowing sunlight to stream into the hall, as students made their way to Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology.

"Hope none of you have plans for tonight," Victoire said, sharing a grin with Dominique, "Because I talked to Neil, and he's going to let us use the pitch after our practice is over."

Albus's eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"What do you lot think? A few games of Quidditch?" Dominique asked. "I'm taking a break from studying."

"I don't know," Rose said slowly, but suddenly, she yelped in pain; Fred had pinched her. "Ouch! What was that for?"

"If Dominique is taking her O.W.L.s in a few weeks, you can take a night off, too," said Fred. Rose stuck her tongue out at him, but composed herself quickly.

"I think it sounds very nice," she said in a dignified way.

"Are you sure we can do it? What about curfews?" Albus asked, earning him a hard thump on the back from James; he elbowed him in the ribs as payback.

"Don't worry, I'll handle it," Victoire promised. "There are perks to being Head Girl."

"Brilliant," Albus grinned.

"Then we'll meet on the pitch at six tonight, all right?" said Dominique.

"Good with me," said Fred.

James shrugged. "Fine."

"As long as we don't get into any trouble," Rose added.

"Quit _worrying,"_ Louis told her.

"We're going to be late," said Albus, looking down at his watch. "Come on, Rose—see you all later!"

"Happy birthday, Albus!" they chorused back at him, as he and Rose sprang up the stairs to Defense Against the Dark Arts.


	32. Pomona Sprout (1995)

So...tired...so many stories I wanted to write for her birthday...

Here, have this one and just leave me here to sleep for a week or two.

Happy birthday, Pomona Sprout!

* * *

15 May 1995

Minerva pulled open the castle door and stood in the bright sunlight for a moment, allowing the cool breeze to flutter past. Down the sloping lawn, she could see Hagrid's final Care of Magical Creatures class for the day, which appeared to be dealing with the last of the Blast-Ended Skrewts. She could see a few students sprinting after some runaways, and shook her head. She slid her hands into her pockets, turning down the castle's winding path to the greenhouses.

She checked her pocket watch as she approached greenhouse three; it was not yet time for the bell to ring, but sure enough, Pomona's sixth years were already filing out, laughing and chattering as they wandered up the lawn. Minerva pretended not to notice, though she certainly received a wary glance from a pair of Ravenclaw girls, who were clearly wondering whether or not they would be in trouble for leaving class early.

Minerva pushed open the greenhouse door. Pomona stood facing away from her beside a trestle bench. "Happy birthday, Pomona."

"You're not supposed to sneak up on old ladies like that," said Pomona, without even turning around. Minerva came around the trestle bench, where Pomona was glaring at a Snargaluff stump.

"I forgot that you and Albus were in school together," Minerva observed.

Pomona lifted her eyebrows as she continued to poke and prod at the stump, looking for its weakest point. "You and I were in school together, that's not old enough for you?"

At once, she chose her spot and dove forward. With a graceful flick of her wand, the stump's thorny tendrils, which had shot forth, aiming for her throat, were immobilized, and Pomona thrust a hand deep into the opening that had appeared in the stump. It closed tightly on her arm, and she gave the stump another sharp jab with her spade—a second later, with a squelching noise, it released her, and she pulled out a pulsating green pod.

Fanning herself, Pomona put the Snargaluff pod on a tray and smiled at Minerva. "I swear, I used to be quicker at that."

"That's just your old age," Minerva informed her.

Pomona stripped off her dragonhide gloves and sat down on the bench. "I make the sixth years do it, normally. They missed a few pods, that's all."

Minerva nodded and sat down beside her, reaching into her pocket. "Happy birthday, dear."

"Thank you," said Pomona happily, taking the box she held out. "You didn't need to get me anything, Minerva."

"Then call it an apology," she replied. There was a moment of silence. "This year, we…well…"

"We could _both _have behaved better," Pomona agreed. "But your apology is accepted."

Minerva sighed heavily. "You know, I do rather hope that Diggory will win."

"Do you?" Pomona looked pleasantly surprised.

"There's no need to sound shocked. Diggory's a talented boy, and Potter…Potter's had enough trouble," Minerva shook her head. "He can afford to miss the spotlight, this time."

"Agreed," said Pomona, smiling. "And not just because I'd like to see Hufflepuff beat Gryffindor in _something_. We still owe you for that final match last year, don't think I've forgotten…Diggory's been bringing up a new Seeker, just you wait…"

Minerva chuckled. "You brag about that boy—"

"And you've never said a _word_ to me about Potter," Pomona said, with feigned wonder. "Diggory might not have defeated any Dark wizards, but he's _our_ celebrity."

"I know, I know," Minerva cut her off. "You don't need to convince me. He's one of my best students."

Pomona took a deep breath. "Sorry. That's my competitive side."

"It's very friendly," Minerva assured her.

"Have the judges been here to discuss the third task?" Pomona asked, untying the ribbon on her gift.

"Bagman arrived, but Barty Crouch was missing." Minerva rested her chin in her hand. "Again. Percy Weasley was there."

"That's quite a long time since he's been around," said Pomona, frowning. "Do you suppose he's all right?"

"I expect the strain has been getting to him. All the odd things in the last few months," Minerva mused. "Albus is sure of what all of it means, of course…"

Pomona shuddered. "I think I'd prefer it if Albus was wrong, this time."

Minerva looked up through the glass roof at the crystalline blue sky. "You can't even imagine how much I agree with you…" She shook herself. "But if we just get through the tournament, we can worry about it later. Open your present."

Pomona lifted the lid away and beamed. "Hungarian Hydrangea seedlings. Thank you."

"You said you missed having them in the greenhouses. I know they're temperamental, but…" Minerva shrugged.

"Well worth it," Pomona agreed, getting up and placing the little box safely in a drawer. "I'll have to plant them at noon tomorrow, the sun's too low," she said, squinting up at the sky.

"Oh," Minerva said, "That reminds me. Albus wants a full staff meeting tomorrow afternoon."

Pomona frowned. "What on earth for?"

"Think of when he asked us to guard Flamel's Stone for him…and then think a bit bigger," Minerva groaned, standing up and patting her on the shoulder. "It's for the third task."

"Excuse me?" Pomona spluttered. "Do you know what Potter and his friends did to my plants the last time I loaned them out to Dumbledore? And they were _first_ years then!"

"I was hoping you would say something like that," Minerva said happily. "Albus thinks an enchanted maze—booby-trapped madness, I say—is just the way to complete the tournament. Low-risk, he believes."

"Not to my plants," Pomona muttered darkly, coming closer to the Venomous Tentacula and patting one of its feelers.

"Just tell him you don't have anything that you'll allow in the maze," Minerva said. "Insist on it. It won't be a problem." She checked her watch again. "I have to get some work done before dinner."

"A maze," Pomona muttered to the Venomous Tentacula as she stroked its leaves, "Where are we, ancient Greece? Mad old coot…"

Minerva shook her head and went to the door. "Happy birthday, Pomona."

"I had better not see any chessmen in that maze come the end of June, Minerva McGonagall!"


	33. Colin Creevey (1994)

Teehee! Happy birthday, Colin! You're an annoying little weirdo BUT I LOVE YOU MADLY and WHY OH WHY DID YOU HAVE TO GO?

* * *

22 May 1994

"That's enough for today," called Professor McGonagall. "All of you, return your beetles here and pack up. Make sure I have your essays. Yes, that's you, Hooper, hand it in, and I'd better not see you doing homework in class again."

Colin hurried to the front of the class and put his particularly fat insect in the box, then darted back to his seat and began throwing things into his bag; he was unbelievably excited, because tonight, Ginny Weasley had said that she would take him out to the lawn and let him ride one of her twin brothers' brooms.

"Happy birthday, Colin!" she chimed as she walked by, and he gave her a grin and a wave, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he made to follow her—

"Mr. Creevey, a word?"

Colin looked around. Professor McGonagall was frowning at him over her square-framed spectacles where she sat at her desk. He approached her. "Yes, Professor?"

"Madam Pince tells me you've been taking photographs in the library again," she said.

"Oh, I—just one, Professor," he stammered. "I'm really sorry, I only take them so my brother can see what I'm doing, and you know, he's younger than me, so he likes it when I—"

Was it his imagination, or did Professor McGonagall seem amused? "Just see that it doesn't happen again, Creevey. Madam Pince is concerned about the welfare of the older books."

Colin nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"Good." Professor McGonagall returned her attention to the stack of essays on her desk, but Colin didn't move. After a moment, Professor McGonagall looked up. "Did you need something else, Creevey?"

"Er…well…I sort of, had a question." Colin shifted uncomfortably. "Erm…I was thinking you probably know—know the answer better than anyone else…"

Professor McGonagall lifted her eyebrows and sat back in her chair. "Yes?"

"Well, my brother," Colin said, "He's—he's called Dennis, and he turned eleven in February, and—and I was wondering…I was wondering…if…he's going to—to get a Hogwarts letter."

Professor McGonagall stared at him and said nothing.

Colin rushed on, "Just because—well, he's really wanted to come here, ever since I did, but—but I got my letter—and you came to see my parents—only a couple of weeks after I turned eleven, and—and Dennis is worried since he didn't get his letter at Easter or anything, he thinks—he thinks he can't go here, and he really, _really_ wants to, Profess—"

"You've a summer birthday, then?" Professor McGonagall asked, frowning a little.

"Y-yes, Professor," he said. "Well, nearly summer. It's my birthday today, actually—I'm thirteen."

Professor McGonagall drew a sigh and folded her hands. "It's not the policy of the school to give out information on new students—_even_ in the case of siblings," she said, forestalling Colin's protest. "However, I can tell you that shortly after the end of the term, I will be preparing to send out letters. They will all be sent at one time. I promise you, I am busy enough as it is without keeping track of when exactly every magical child turns eleven."

Colin felt a rush of relief. "So—so Dennis might still get his letter?"

Was that a twitch of a smile? "He might. I can't say that I have looked very carefully at the list for this summer, as of yet."

"That's brilliant!" Colin cried. "Oh, wow—thanks, Professor!" He practically ran to the door—he couldn't wait to get to Gryffindor Tower and write to Dennis.

"Creevey!"

He stopped and looked at her.

"No more photographs in the library," Professor McGonagall reminded him, arching an eyebrow and fixing him with a stern look over her spectacles. "Especially if your brother will be here himself."

Colin frowned, but Professor McGonagall had already returned her attention to her essays. With a tingling rush of excitement, he bolted out the door and down the corridor.


	34. Ariana Dumbledore (1899)

24 May 1899

"Well, Miss Ariana, what is it?" Bathilda smiled shrewdly as Ariana blushed. She was seated on the floor before her mother's chair, with Bathilda's birthday gift in her lap.

"You can open it, darling," Kendra told her, rubbing her back gently. "That's it—pull the ribbon."

Very delicately—Bathilda had always noticed how delicately the girl moved, as though she were afraid of breaking something—Ariana lifted away the lid of the box. Her eyes lit up, and she lifted a beautiful doll from the wrappings.

"Oh, Ariana," said Kendra. "She looks just like you, darling, doesn't she?"

"I tried to think of the prettiest girl I knew," said Bathilda. "She's got a special charm on her—she'll never wear or get dirty, Ariana, so you can take her anywhere you like. You can keep her with you always."

"Can you thank Miss Bagshot, Ariana?" Kendra asked Ariana, who seemed to be transported with delight at the gift. She looked up at Bathilda and gave her a luminous smile.

"You're welcome, my dear," Bathilda promised, leaning forward and patting her cheek. "Happy birthday."

Ariana looked up at her mother, hugging the doll to her chest, and Kendra nodded. "Yes, go and play, darling. Good girl."

Ariana rose gracefully and drifted over to the window seat, settling herself on the cushions where she could look out at the rain-soaked garden, cradling her doll. Unlike her older brothers, Ariana was quite small for her age, and curled up into such a tiny ball that she looked like a small child, rather than a girl of fourteen. Kendra sighed and turned to Bathilda.

"It was kind of you to come and see us in this awful weather," Kendra said. She looked rather tired, Bathilda thought. There were more lines on her face than suited her age, and her dark hair—usually shining and sleek—seemed to betray more of the graying streaks that were beginning to appear prematurely. But Bathilda was quite used to that: Kendra's life had not been easy, especially in these last few years. No, there was something else that troubled her, now, and it made Bathilda feel rather anxious.

But she had been silent too long. Kendra shifted slightly in her chair. "The gift is lovely," she said.

"Well, I couldn't let my favorite girl think I'd forgotten her special day," said Bathilda fondly. "She is a dear one."

Kendra nodded, looking over to Ariana for a moment. "She is." Then she seemed to shake herself and sat forward, picking up her wand. She raised the flames in the fireplace slightly and rapped the teapot; it poured second cups for both of them.

"I imagine you're looking forward to having the boys home," said Bathilda, accepting her cup. "Hogwarts exams are quite soon. Albus confessed in one of his notes that even _he_ is feeling daunted by the prospect of his Arithmancy examination."

Kendra smiled rather proudly as she spooned a little sugar into her tea. "I don't worry about that boy. He can talk about nerves all he likes—he's never brought home a bad report yet. He'll be a Minister for Magic before he's twenty-five, I'm sure."

"And how is Aberforth?" Bathilda asked.

Kendra smiled even more. "Envious that Albus is finishing school," she laughed. "He's a bit more like Percival always was—he wants to go off, travel, be somewhere new. Albus takes after me, I never wanted to leave Hogwarts."

Bathilda nodded. "I expect Albus is planning his tour?"

"With Elphias Doge, I believe, and perhaps another friend of theirs," Kendra said. "It's going to be a long summer without him."

"Well, you'll have Aberforth," said Bathilda. "And this darling child." Ariana had come wandering back over, curious about the conversation, and Bathilda held out a hand to her. Shyly, Ariana took it, still holding her doll in her other arm. "You sweet girl. Are you glad your brothers are coming home?"

Ariana's features lit up once again, and she withdrew her hand from Bathilda's to reach into her dress pocket. She produced a folded-up square of parchment and held it out to her mother. "Ab," she said, pointing at the letter. "Ab."

"It's a letter from Aberforth," Kendra explained, as Ariana reached into her pocket again and gave her mother a second letter.

"Al," she told Bathilda, pointing again, and she sat down on the floor, looking avidly up at her mother, who shook open the first letter.

Kendra cleared her throat. "Aberforth says, _'Tell Ariana how much I miss her, and I love her very much. I hope she has a wonderful birthday. Love from Aberforth.'"_

Ariana smiled widely and looked at Bathilda, who—though she didn't quite know why—was having a hard time smiling again.

"And Albus says, _'Ariana, have the most wonderful birthday you can dream of. I love you and miss you, and I will see you soon.'"_ Kendra folded the two notes up carefully and returned them to Ariana, who tucked them away in her pocket again, beaming.

"Bathilda?" Kendra asked. "You—you've a very strange look in your eye."

"Oh, no," Bathilda said. "I apologize, I was just—oh, Kendra, I _am_ sorry."

Kendra sighed. Her smile had vanished. "Bathilda, you know I am…grateful for your friendship. It has made all the difference, recently, but—"

"It wasn't my intention to—"

"You know I do not like feeling pitied," Kendra said, in a low, deliberately calm voice for Ariana's sake, but with an intensity that made Bathilda feel ashamed.

"I apologize, Kendra," she said quietly, a few moments later. "I just can't help but think that—that no one deserves to experience what your family have."

Kendra's eyes were fixed on Ariana, who was playing with her doll, apparently uninterested in their conversation. She nodded. "Well, I must agree with you there," she said, her voice hard. Ariana looked up at her tone, worried, and Kendra smiled at her.

"Kendra," Bathilda said slowly, "Are you feeling well? You—you seem rather—well, tired."

"Do I?" Kendra sighed. "It must be because I'm missing the boys," she smiled. "They make everything brighter—don't they, darling?" she asked Ariana, who nodded enthusiastically.

Bathilda was trying to choose her words carefully, and folded her hands tightly on her knee. "What if—and it's just a thought, Kendra, so don't—don't think anything of it—what if you left me here, with Ariana, one day next week? You could go down to London, stop in at St. Mungo's—"

"Do I look that bad, Bathilda?" Kendra asked sardonically. Ariana had moved to lean against her knees, and Kendra was playing absently with her long, golden hair. "You know she doesn't like it when I go away. And I don't like leaving."

"Just for a few hours, to be certain you're all right," Bathilda said. "You don't want to be ill before Aberforth or Albus can come home. I could make you an appointment with my cousin, you could be there and back in three hours."

Kendra smoothed back a strand of her own lightly graying hair and sighed again. "I'll think about it," she said quietly.

"I wish you would," Bathilda said earnestly. "I—I am very fond of you and your family, Kendra. I should hate it if I didn't feel that I had done all my duty as your neighbor—and your friend."

Finally, Kendra looked up again. "Thank you, Bathilda. I appreciate that."

"Miss?"

Bathilda started and looked down at Ariana; she had never heard Ariana address anyone other than her mother or brothers.

"That's you," Kendra said, looking amused. "'Miss.'"

Bathilda smiled and leaned down to Ariana. "What is it, my dear?" Ariana bit her lip, holding the doll forward; the collar of the tiny dress had come unbuttoned. "Oh, I can fix that for you," she promised with a wink. With a great show, as though she were doing something very secretive and throwing Ariana teasingly furtive looks every few moments, Bathilda fastened the button again and returned the doll.

Ariana beamed and hugged it close again.

"You would be a good mother," said Kendra, smiling at Bathilda.

"You are a great one," she replied.


	35. Helga Hufflepuff

So, of course i have no idea when the founders' birthdays are, but I got requests, so... :) I just guessed based on my idea of their personalities hahaha :) happy birthday Helga! Sorry it's not happier!

* * *

"Oh, Rowena," Helga murmured. "What have you done?"

Rowena lay in the bed, apparently asleep, though her breathing was labored and painful. She was positively skeletal, her skin white as chalk; the months of worry since Helena's flight from the castle had taken their toll, certainly, but it was Rowena's expedition to the wildernesses of Europe that had made her this ill. Godric managed to track her down somewhere in the east, and only last night had himself carried her back to her tower room at Hogwarts.

Though Rowena had been conscious upon her arrival, she had not recognized her home, and murmured a few faint words about Helena before falling into a deep sleep. Now she had a high fever, and Helga was feeling very anxious. She wanted to send for a healer from the village, but if it became widely known that Rowena Ravenclaw was ill, questions would be raised, and the credibility of Hogwarts would be under attack.

After all, not very many knew that Helena was not, in fact, Rowena's adopted daughter, nor did they know that she had run away after learning that her father was Salazar Slytherin, and that she was the product of an affair that had ended badly. Helga and Godric had spent the better part of the last year trying to conceal the truth even from their own staff; very few people would want to teach in a school that supposedly "promoted" such casual morals, let alone allow their children to be educated there.

The very thought made Helga grind her teeth in anger. Then came a soft moan; Rowena was stirring slightly. Helga felt a rush of relief and took her hand. "Rowena."

"Helga?" she asked weakly. "Where—where am I?"

"You are home," Helga told her soothingly.

Rowena frowned, looking around at the wide, round room, decorated in blue and bronze. "But…how did…how did I come here?"

"Godric," Helga said simply, her eyes filling with tears. "Godric brought you back. Do you remember? You were in Germany, in a Muggle convent."

Rowena gave another little moan and closed her eyes, though it was hard to tell if she was in pain or just overwhelmed.

"There, there," Helga said. "You're safe, now, and you need rest…"

"Helena," Rowena insisted. "I need Helena…Albania."

"I know, Rowena, please," Helga said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We can find her…you've done beautifully, Rowena, we will find Helena."

"She's in…nnh…Albania…Helga, I must see her, please…my daughter…" Rowena's large, dark eyes opened. They were full of tears. "I want you…to reach the—the baron's son. He—he can find her, I know…he can try to win her…"

"Rowena…"

"You _must_, Helga, he _will_ find her," Rowena pleaded.

"I will write to him," Helga promised her, though it was with hesitation. "But we must get you well, first. I will send for him once you are stronger."

"No, no—it must be now," Rowena wailed, and her thin fingers caught at Helga's hand. "Please, Helga…I…I do not have…"

"Hush, hush," Helga whispered, her voice breaking. Her chin trembled as Rowena's eyes slid shut again. Though she was breathing heavily and gave a soft moan, Rowena seemed to be falling asleep once again. Helga laid a gentle hand on her forehead. "Burning," she muttered, sniffling loudly and hurrying to her feet. She went to fetch the basin and cloth, and had just perched herself on the bed beside Rowena when she heard a soft knock.

Helga went to the door. Godric leaned in the frame, looking exhausted.

"I sent you to bed," Helga whispered, as he kissed her forehead gently.

"You worry about me too much," he assured her. "How fares Rowena?"

Helga looked over to the bed. "Poorly," she admitted. "She—she thinks that—that asking the baron's son…that he might be able to bring Helena back."

Godric's expression darkened.

"Rowena begged me to send for him," Helga said quietly. "I—I think we must—"

"I will go," Godric said. "Better I than that two-faced—"

Rowena gave another moan, and Helga hushed him. "Helena is too clever to allow any of the three of us near her. She would never expect the boy."

"Well," Godric growled, "We have some time to think on it…we will bring Helena back when Rowena is well."

Helga hesitated. "But perhaps it would be easiest for Rowena to heal with Helena close by," she said. Godric frowned. "Or," Helga continued, and she was truly hesitant to give voice to this possibility, "If she hasn't much time, Godric," she whispered, almost inaudibly, "if Rowena is—if she is—"

Godric blinked. "No," he said flatly, his eyes flickering over to the bed. "No, she is not."

Helga said nothing, but simply clutched his hand tightly. They turned together to watch Rowena for a moment; she shifted slightly under her blankets, but did not wake. Then a shaft of bright golden light burst suddenly through the window, illuminating the blue and bronze decoration of the stone walls.

Helga looked around at the rising sun. "She wants to see Helena, Godric. We can do that, can we not?" She looked around. Godric's expression was steely beneath his thick beard; for one of the only times in their friendship and marriage, it was impossible for Helga to tell what he was thinking.

Then, suddenly, he turned to Helga, kissed her cheek gently, and said, "I will take a letter to the village." And he turned on his heel and left the room.

Helga sighed heavily, feeling relieved, and looked to the window once again. The sun was rising over the grounds and forest. With a sudden jolt of realization, she remembered it was her birthday. She looked around at Rowena, who coughed slightly, and approached the bed once again.

"Please, Rowena," Helga murmured, sitting down and soaking the cloth in the basin of water. "Get well, please…"


	36. Dudley Dursley (2004)

Happy birthday, Dudders! :) You're not all bad, I know.

* * *

1 June 2004

"Oh, Dudley, look," Maryann said happily, handing him a letter. "Your cousin's sent you something."

Dudley frowned and took the envelope. There it was, plain as day: his name, his address, and a regular postage stamp affixed to the front—with Harry's name in the return address. He scratched his head slightly; he had last seen Harry about two years ago. They had exchanged information, promising to write to each other, but hadn't actually done it.

Had Harry remembered his birthday? Dudley felt a twinge of guilt and looked up at Maryann.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" she asked curiously, rubbing her large belly. She was very pregnant with their daughter, due to arrive in July.

Dudley hesitated. "I dunno," he said slowly.

"I thought you wanted to get along better with him?" Maryann asked, folding her arms and looking stern. "He's reached out to you! Maybe he was a little odd when you were kids, but he must want to be friends now!"

Dudley sighed and slit open the envelope. There was a plain piece of card inside, with a short note from Harry.

_Hey, Dudley_

_Just writing to wish you a happy birthday.  
__Hope this gets to you in time. I haven't used the regular post in a while.  
__Here's a picture of Ginny and me with some friends at the wedding last year.  
__We're having a baby soon, about December. Hope you're well.  
__Happy birthday again._

_Drop us a note and say what's going on,_

_Harry_

Maryann, who had gotten up and come around to look at the photograph Dudley now held, chuckled. "What does he mean, the _regular_ post?"

Dudley just shrugged, but he was staring at the photograph. It wasn't a moving one, like the ones he knew Harry used to keep hidden in his bedroom, but it was a beautiful picture.

It was taken on a beach, around sunset, and in the background were a silvery-blue canopy and a small, lopsided seaside cottage. In the front, Harry was laughing harder, looking happier than Dudley could ever remember seeing him, with his arms wrapped around a beautiful young woman with flaming red hair that was decorated with flowers and seashells. Her white dress fluttered in the breeze; it almost looked as if she and Harry were about to topple over. Roaring with laughter on either side of them were a tall, red-haired man and a woman with brown hair that was coming free of its seashell-bedecked knot in tangled curls.

Dudley couldn't remember the last time he had seen so much happiness in one picture.

"Oh, how lovely. Is that their wedding party?" Maryann asked. "What are they wearing?" she asked, pointing to the robe-like garments on Harry and his best man.

"Theme wedding," Dudley told her, and she laughed, going to the kettle to put on a cup of tea.

"Well, you should write back to him," she said matter-of-factly. "You can give him one of our wedding pictures, too, there are a few left in the drawer." Maryann turned around and leaned her back against the counter, rubbing her belly again. "And we should arrange a playdate for the new cousins, don't you think?"

Dudley just stared at the photograph and grinned.


	37. Draco Malfoy (1998)

5 June 1998

"Narcissa. Narcissa, can you hear me?" Heavily, Narcissa opened her eyes. Lucius was leaning over her. "You have a visitor," he informed her.

Narcissa blinked and looked to the foot of her bed. Bellatrix stood there, cradling newborn Draco in her arms and smiling proudly. "He's wonderful, Narcissa," she said softly, bringing the baby around the bed and sitting down on Narcissa's other side. "A Black, through and through."

"He is handsome, isn't he?" Narcissa asked, sharing a smile with Lucius, who ran a hand gently over her hair.

Bellatrix's smile didn't fade as she gazed down at baby Draco. "It's a pity we have to take him."

Narcissa frowned. "Take him? You're not taking him."

"We know what you did, Narcissa," said Lucius gently, rising to stare down at Narcissa. "We know what you did to all of us."

"And we will not be betrayed," Bellatrix added, rising as well. She cradled Draco a little more closely to her chest, and he began to cry loudly.

Narcissa tried to sit up, but she was too weak, too tired. She flung out a hand. "Bellatrix, no! Give me my baby!"

"We know what you did," she said coldly. "We will not be betrayed."

"Draco!" Narcissa screamed. Bellatrix turned away from the bed and walked away, Lucius beside her. Draco's cries grew louder and louder. "My baby! Draco, no!"

With a gasp of shock, Narcissa sat up, her heart pounding. She looked to her side; Lucius was asleep, his sunken cheeks pale in the moonlight that streamed in the window of their seaside hotel. Calming down again, Narcissa leaned over and kissed his temple gently; he did not stir, but gave a sigh and slept on. Then she slid out of bed and picked up her silk dressing gown, wrapping it tightly around herself, and padded gently across the suite to the doorway that joined their hotel room to Draco's.

Draco was sleeping soundly, sprawled across the bed. Narcissa released the breath she had been holding and moved quietly to sit down beside him, watching his face. The horrible skull and snake branded on his left arm had faded considerably in the last few weeks, just as Lucius's had, but it was still there, marking Draco's skin as something he had never truly wanted to be…

Narcissa reached out and smoothed his hair back. It was after midnight; it was around this hour, eighteen years ago, that she had been positively going to pieces, struggling to deliver her son. She gently pulled his blanket up, turning his left arm over so that she could not see the mark. Then she leaned over and kissed his forehead. "You'll be all right," she whispered. "Mummy will be here…" Her chin trembled. "No matter what."

Draco grunted and rolled over onto his stomach, letting out a sigh. Narcissa closed her eyes for a moment, laying her hand on his back, and felt his heartbeat beneath her fingers.

_It was worth it._


	38. Helena Ravenclaw

Hey! So, I made a change to our June calendar, partly because I realized I put up the original from an old list and partly because someone reminded me that Cedric's birthday couldn't have been in June XD

Anyway! Hestia took Cedric's place, and we'll carry on from Helena (today) and Rose (tomorrow)! Enjoy, all, and happy birthday Helena!

* * *

"Helena! Helena, darling!"

Helena, who was squatting on the bank of the lake, straightened quickly, but too late: the hem of her dress had already been thoroughly soaked. She spun around, her heart pounding—but then she saw that it was just Aunt Helga who was running towards her.

"Oh, goodness," she panted, coming to a stop to catch her breath. She looked Helena up and down. "I was afraid you had fallen in, Helena! You know your mother doesn't let you out here alone."

"I was only playing," Helena said quietly, her stomach twisting into an anxious knot. "I was being careful. Please don't tell Mother."

Aunt Helga narrowed her eyes, watching Helena closely. Then she smiled. "Let me dry your skirt. Your mother need not know."

Helena sighed in relief. "All right."

"What were you looking at, then, that had you so interested? You looked ready to pitch right over onto the rocks," Aunt Helga said, scooping Helena up and placing her on a nearby boulder. She drew her wand and pointed it at Helena's skirts.

"There are new plants in the shallows," Helena said. "I thought…I thought they were pretty." She swallowed hard and watched the tip of Aunt Helga's wand as it blew hot air over her dress. "And maybe…Mother would want them."

Aunt Helga smiled. "That was thoughtful, Helena, and kind of you, but you know how worried your mother is when you leave the castle without telling us."

Helena looked down at her hands. "I know. I just wanted to surprise Mother. She was…unhappy, earlier. I do not want her to be unhappy." Helena swallowed a painful lump in her throat; she didn't want to say what she truly thought—that _she_, Helena, was the root of her mother's unhappiness.

Aunt Helga seemed to know, anyway. She laid aside her wand and took hold of Helena's upper arms, her expression becoming stern. "Helena, listen to me very carefully. Your mother is never so happy as when she is with you. Even when she is tired, or upset, you bring her more joy than anything else."

Helena nodded once, heaving her shoulders in a sigh. "I do not see why she must be upset, though. It is not fair."

Aunt Helga looked a little sad and smoothed a strand of Helena's hair behind her ear. "There is no such thing as love without the slightest bit of heartache, my sweet girl. That does not mean that love is not real. And your mother's love for you is more real than any I have ever seen," she added. "You are very young, Helena, and although I know how you would like to have everything explained to you, that cannot be so. Not now."

"When I get my wand?" Helena asked at once, and Aunt Helga laughed. "Only two years—from today!" Helena added brightly. "Then I will go to Hogwarts, too!"

Aunt Helga lifted her up from the rock and kissed her cheek, depositing her back on the ground. "Yes, you will."

"Aunt Helga?" Helena asked, holding her hand as they strolled along the bank together, slowly walking back to the castle.

"Yes?"

"What is it like, away from Hogwarts? Is it the way it is here? With lakes and hills and…everything?" Helena watched her aunt closely. She seemed to be considering her answer carefully.

"It…is not quite like it is here, Helena," Aunt Helga said slowly. "Perhaps in appearance, it is so, but...it is not as safe, for our kind, to live amongst Muggles. They do not understand us. It is sad, and we must always hope that one day we will all grow to appreciate each other more than we do now, but…"

"Is that why Morgana and Godric and I must stay here, in the castle?" Helena asked.

Aunt Helga smiled slightly. "Your cousins must stay here because they are babies, and still manage to stir up more mischief than half of our students."

Helena giggled. Then Aunt Helga stopped walking and knelt down in front of her. "And you, my dearest, must stay here because this is where your mother is, with the people who love you most. But," she said, when Helena felt her smile fade, "That does not mean that you must be here forever. On the contrary, your mother wants you to grow up, safe, here with us, so that you can go out and see the world when you are ready."

For some reason, Helena felt tears sting her eyes and a lump fill her throat. Embarrassed, she looked away from Aunt Helga's face. Aunt Helga didn't need her to say any more, but wrapped her in a tight hug that Helena returned wholeheartedly.

"Helena! Helena, were you out here all alone?"

Mother had come down the sweeping stone steps to meet them, her long blue dress fluttering in the breeze. Helena hung her head, but Aunt Helga spoke up.

"Not at all, Rowena, I came with her," she said merrily.

Mother's expression relaxed at once, and she embraced Helena as they approached. "Did you visit your plants by the lake, my love?" she asked, kneeling before Helena to smooth her hair and gown. "Look at you, all windblown and rosy—was it a nice walk?"

Helena blinked. Mother was in a better mood now. "Y-yes," she said, starting to smile.

Mother looked up at Aunt Helga, and then at Helena. "Would you like to have your birthday treat now, Helena?" she asked.

Helena's heart leapt. "Yes!" she cried.

Mother rose and took her hand. "Come with me, sweet girl."

And with one last wave at Aunt Helga, who beamed back at her, Helena trotted up the stairs at her mother's side.


	39. Rose Weasley (2026)

I've had LP & TWT (oh the acronyms I come up with for my own stuff...I could just pick shorter titles, but no...) on the brain lately. Considering a rewrite. Thoughts, comments, concerns? Anyway, I've always felt that Rose and Lily were really close. Don't know why, I think they just were. So here we go, Rose and Lily and that ancient story that I'm not all that fond of anymore! ;)

Happy birthday, Rosie!

* * *

21 June 2026

"Scorpius. Scorpius, get up."

"Whuh? Why?" Scorpius snuffled in his sleep, and Rose shoved his shoulder, hopping on the spot as she pulled one boot on.

"My mum just sent me a letter, I've got to get back to London," she told him urgently. "_Please, _Scorpius—oh, damn—"

She had stumbled and knocked into the tiny table in the corner of her tiny flat. Several empty wine bottles toppled over and rolled onto the floor. The uneaten birthday cake Scorpius had prepared for her (they had gotten a little distracted between dinner and dessert) still lay on the table.

"All right?" Scorpius asked, sitting up and looking bleary. "What're you talking about?"

"Scorpius, please get _dressed!"_ Rose pleaded. "Come on!"

He mashed his hands against his forehead, shaking himself. "Sorry, sorry. Everything okay?"

Rose made a noise of exasperation. "No, Scorpius, everything is not okay!" She seized the letter that an owl had just left on her windowsill and tossed it at Scorpius, then hurried to the closet and pulled out a jacket.

"Lily's been hurt?"

Scorpius sounded much more alert now; by the time Rose turned around again he was halfway out of bed and pulling on his trousers.

"Yes, and I need you," Rose said, coming close as he stood up to kiss his cheek, "To cover things here for me. Just tell Hervé I've had a family emergency—"

"Are you mad? I'm coming with you!" Scorpius insisted, dragging his shirt on. "Albus is one of my closest friends, d'you think—"

"No, Scorpius," Rose told him. "It'll be difficult enough trying to get into St. Mungo's if she's really seriously hurt, which I don't know, and explaining why you're there—"

"Rose," Scorpius grumbled.

She stopped, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant—it's just—high-pressure, you know?"

"Your dad likes me," Scorpius said, though there was a distinct note of hesitation in his voice.

"Yes, he does, but he's wary," Rose told him patiently. "You know that. And popping up in the hospital in the middle of night with my boyfriend in tow is not going to fly with him."

"It's not about us, it's about Lily!" Scorpius said indignantly. "And I'd like to see her for myself, make sure she's all right!"

"I _know, _Scorpius, I do," Rose said, and she felt tears sting her eyes as she bit back her frustration. "But—come tomorrow! Come the day after, even!" She kissed his cheek again briefly and hurried away. "I've got to go, though, Scorpius, Mum asked me to come right away, and—"

"You know I'll be more helpful if I'm there with you," Scorpius said firmly. "This isn't about just wanting to stay with you. What about Hugo? He's got to be upset right now, Lily's his best friend! And what if Al or James needs help? If I'm expecting you to take my proposal seriously, I need to be able to step up in this type of situation!"

Rose stopped, stock-still with her hand on the doorknob. She turned around, and as she did, her eyes landed on the little velvet box that still lay on the kitchen counter. Very slowly, she took a deep breath and met Scorpius's piercing gray eyes; they made her stomach do a little flip every time she saw them, even after four years…

"Shouldn't I be the one saying that kind of thing to you?" she asked in a strangled whisper.

"Honestly, Rose, I don't give a damn," he replied tersely. "So am I coming with you or not?"

"Scorpius," she began, but he just continued to stare at her. She trailed off, and, because she was frustrated, and upset, and very, _very _scared for Lily, she slapped her hand hard against the wall. "Come on, then," she barked at Scorpius, who seemed to understand that she was not truly angry at him; she would have to thank him for that later.

"I'll get my coat," he said calmly, striding to the closet. He hurriedly finished dressing and came to the door. "Want to Side-Along?"

"No, too difficult in the dark," Rose said, pulling the door open and leading the way out of the flat, down the stairs, and into the back garden with Scorpius on her heels. "We'll just go to the alley, right next to the visitor's entrance. It'll be be empty at this hour."

"Good thinking," said Scorpius, and he caught her hand. "Rose."

Rose turned around, swallowing a painful lump in her throat. "We have to go," she said, but her voice broke, and she felt tears fill her eyes again. She swore under her breath, but Scorpius didn't seem to mind; he knew how much her cousins meant to her—particularly Lily. He stepped forward and pulled her into a huge hug, and by some miracle, she relaxed.

"If you Side-Along," he whispered in her ear, "I won't tell anyone."

"You and your fear of Splinching," Rose laughed morosely into his shoulder, still hugging him.

"I'm a firm believer in _not_ getting Splinched," Scorpius corrected her. "It's not a fear."

"I have never Splinched myself, Scorpius Malfoy," Rose told him, pulling back to look at his face.

"Then let's not have a first time tonight," he said, offering his arm to her. Rose rolled her eyes, wiped at her cheeks hurriedly, and took tight hold of his elbow. Her last darkly humorous thought, before she was yanked beside him into the familiar crushing darkness, was that there had to be a better way to spend the night with her boyfriend—no, _fiancée—_on her birthday.


	40. Padma & Parvati Patil (1997)

24 June 1997

Padma sniffled quietly, stifling her sobs against her knees, which she held close to her chest. It seemed like the window seat in her bedroom had gotten smaller in the last year—or perhaps she just felt more trapped in the little room.

She was not going back to Hogwarts.

Yesterday she had seen the castle for the last time ever. It was unbelievable, fantastical—but she was not going back to Hogwarts. She would never be able to walk through the front doors, or see the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, or get lost in the library ever again, because Professor Dumbledore was dead…

She pressed her face into her knees and whimpered. And then, sure enough, she heard her door open quietly.

"Padma?"

She wiped her face and gave Parvati a dismal smile.

"For the record," Parvati said slowly, "You were right. We could still go back and be safe."

Padma shook her head. "You know what Dad's like once I wind him up. It doesn't matter, I'm only sixteen, I—"

"Seventeen," Parvati mumbled. "We're seventeen, now." She held her wrist out; sure enough, her watch said that it was nearly one o'clock in the morning.

Padma sighed. "I don't suppose that'd help my case much?"

"Well, you have ten days to rehearse," Parvati said darkly. "Did you hear him telling Mum he's going back to Mumbai?"

"Of course he is!" Padma burst out. "That's how he deals with things! Row with us? Oh, better go out of town for as long as possible. _On business,_ of course. Never mind that he _supposedly _yanked us out of school to _protect _us, no, he'll just leave as quick as he can—I hate it here!"

"Yeah, well," Parvati mumbled, squeezing into the window seat with her. "It'll be okay, Padma."

"It's not going to be okay," Padma said, as tears filled her eyes. "It can't be okay! Professor Dumbledore—he's gone—and—and what's going to happen to Hogwarts?" She pressed her face into her knees again.

"I don't know," Parvati sighed. "I…I don't."

Padma raised her head, tears pouring down her cheeks. "I'm homesick, Parvati," she sobbed.

"Me too," Parvati whispered, hugging Padma close as she cried.


	41. Padma & Parvati Patil (1998)

Happy birthday again, ladies! ;) Don't forget to drop a review if you like it!

Love you all!

* * *

24 June 1998

Parvati pushed her sweaty hair out of her eyes, heaving a sigh. It seemed like everywhere she turned, there was more rubble; more bloodstained marble, more shattered statues that had to be pushed out of the way. She and the other volunteers who had been cleaning the castle and trying to put it right again for weeks barely seemed to be making any headway at all. The damage seemed endless and irreparable.

She dropped down onto a step. It wasn't true, of course, but when she was left alone with her thoughts, it certainly felt that way.

"Missed a spot."

Parvati lifted her eyebrows and turned around; Padma stood looking down at her from the upper landing. "Would you like a broom, then?" she asked sardonically. Padma smiled and trotted down a few steps to sit beside her, slinging an arm around Parvati's neck.

"How's it going?" she asked. She rested her head on Parvati's shoulder, as well.

"Brilliant," Parvati replied heavily.

Padma nodded. She linked their fingers together, staring down at their hands. "It just seems to get worse, doesn't it?"

"Not exactly," said Parvati, combing her hair back from her face. "But it doesn't seem like it's getting better."

They were quiet for a moment. Parvati reached out one foot and pushed at a broken fragment of the banister that lay on the marble steps. Barely twenty feet from where she sat, Lavender had been mauled by Fenrir Greyback, before falling three stories to the entrance hall below—she had nearly died, and for the first time in seven years, Parvati hadn't been there to help her. Lavender might have been alive and on the mend, but that did nothing to alleviate the sick feeling that filled Parvati's stomach whenever she thought of her best friend.

Padma seemed to understand exactly what she was thinking and feeling—well, of course she did, and she always had—but nonetheless, Parvati was grateful for her sister. She slipped an arm around her ribs and hugged her.

"Still," Padma said quietly. "Being here, able to help…it reminds me how lucky we both were—_are_."

Parvati nodded once and wiped at her wet cheeks. "I just…I feel guilty."

Padma sat up, frowning. "Guilty for what?"

"I don't know!" Parvati laughed, as more tears came to her eyes. "That's the whole problem! I feel like…ever since—since that night, we've either been here, or at St. Mungo's. I feel like I've abandoned Mum, and Dad's angry at us, for being here more than we're home, and…Lavender," her voice broke, and she covered her face in her hands. "I haven't heard from her since she left St. Mungo's, and I'm worried—I'm worried she's angry at me—"

"Why would she be angry at you?" Padma's tone had hardened, and Parvati knew it was because of the mention of their father; Padma had gotten into a blazing row with him just last week.

"I wasn't there," Parvati said quietly. "I feel like I—I could have stopped it…"

"Could you have stopped what happened to Cho, or Professor Sprout?" Padma asked quietly. "Or Colin Creevey? Fred Weasley?"

Parvati blinked and looked at her.

"Parvati, we made a choice to stay and fight that night," Padma said. "But we knew what could happen to us when we did, and so did everyone else. Even Lavender. We couldn't all save each other, there—there was no way." Padma's calm, reassuring coolness slipped a little, and she paused to swallow and take a breath. "I'm not saying I don't know how you feel—but we can't let ourselves get sucked in that way. We _won, _and I don't want to disgrace anyone's sacrifice by acting like we haven't."

Parvati stared at her. "How long have you been waiting to say that to someone?"

Padma laughed and wiped away a tear of her own. "I might have written it in my journal the other night, but—you read my journal, Parvati Patil!" she smacked Parvati's arm. "Oh, I am going to _get_ you…"

"You really need to find a better space than behind your headboard," Parvati informed her, giggling hysterically. "You've had your Trace off for a year and you _still_ haven't done anything about it—"

"Clearly I was counting on you to show a little maturity," Padma said, digging an elbow into her ribs, but still laughing.

"Hey, you're six minutes older," Parvati reminded her, "I'm the baby here."

Padma rolled her eyes. "Obviously."

"Parvati? Padma?"

They looked around at the same time. Lavender, looking pale and with one arm bound up in a sling and bandages, stood at the top of the stairs. The angry red scars on her face and neck had faded, and looked much less painful.

"_Lav!"_ Parvati shrieked and leapt to her feet, scrambling up the stairs, but then skidded to a halt, unsure of what to do. "Oh—I don't want to hurt you!"

Lavender scoffed and rolled her eyes, throwing her good arm open. "Come here! You too," she added to Padma, grinning at her. "Happy birthday!"

"You remembered," Parvati laughed, pulling back as Lavender reached into her pocket, produced two small envelopes, and presented one to each of them.

"Of course I did," she said, beaming.

"Thanks, Lavender," Padma said, blushing rather awkwardly; Parvati knew she had never felt totally comfortable around many of the other Gryffindors—even Lavender. "How are you?"

"Pretty well," she said brightly. "I'm here to help for a few hours. Can you use me?"

"Let's go ask Professor McGonagall," said Parvati, hooking her arm through Lavender's elbow. "Come on, Padma." And before Padma had a chance to make an excuse, Parvati had grabbed her by the hand, and they set off down the corridor together.


	42. Dobby (1996)

Wooo! So this chick made a big mistake haha. Dobby's birthday is the 27th, and Hestia's was meant for the 28th. Oops. :) Anyway, I'll leave this chapter here for now, and once y'all have had a chance to read, I'll swap them, yeah? :D So no worries! My mistake!

xox

You're all awesome and I love you as much as I love Dobby, which is a lot. Duh.

* * *

27 June 1996

Dobby hummed merrily to himself, packing his bag as he prepared for his big day off. He was a very lucky elf, he knew, but until yesterday, he could never have imagined how lucky. Yesterday, Professor Dumbledore had been in his office when Dobby had cleaned it. Dobby had been pleased to see him, and to his great surprise, Professor Dumbledore had been happy to chat with him for a short while. Completely by accident, Dobby had let slip that today was his birthday.

"Your birthday?" Professor Dumbledore had asked. "Forgive me—but I had no idea that house elves celebrated birthdays."

"'Tis quite all right, Headmaster," Dobby had told him. "House elves do not, usually—Dobby, however, likes to remember his first full day of freedom! Dobby will never forget the first morning after—after he was freed…Dobby—Dobby calls it his birthday," he said, blushing furiously. "But—but Dobby must finish cleaning, sir—"

It was then that Professor Dumbledore had offered Dobby the greatest gift he could ever have imagined—an extra day off. And, as if that wasn't enough, Dobby had come into the kitchen early this morning to find a small parcel with his name on it…

"Will Dobby please see that the dusting in Gryffindor Tower—"

"Dobby is sorry, Leo," Dobby squeaked to the Head Elf, who had approached him at the kitchen hearth. "Dobby is having his day off, today!"

Leo frowned slightly. "You is having your 'day off,'" he said the words like they tasted bad, "on Sundays, Dobby."

"Dobby is having his birthday today!" Dobby explained brightly. "Professor Dumbledore is giving Dobby a day off to celebrate!"

Leo couldn't have gone paler. "Celebrate?" he spluttered.

"Professor Dumbledore is even giving Dobby a birthday present, because he is so glad to be back at Hogwarts!" Dobby held up his two mismatched violet and striped green socks.

Leo drew himself up. "Dobby—go and has your day off! We will see you tomorrow!" And he stalked off in a huff to find some of the other elves.

Dobby grinned to himself; he liked Leo and the other elves a great deal, and he felt sad that they wouldn't get the chance to celebrate their birthdays, he was too excited about the prospect of enjoying his own to worry very much.

He had big fish to fry, after all—and perhaps today, he would be able to say hello to Harry Potter, who had been looking very glum lately, even with the departure of Madam Professor Toad.

Perhaps Dobby could cheer him up. After all, it was thanks to Harry Potter that Dobby had his birthday at all.


	43. Hestia Jones (2029)

Yay! This, of course, is a quasi-not-really companion piece to "To Endure," but no reading of that is necessary here! Anyway, hope y'all will drop a note if you like it; I have some cool projects in the works right now!

Happy birthday Hestia, you're the coolest!

* * *

28 June 2029

Hestia hummed lightly, rapping the gravy boat with her wand. It sailed into the air and drizzled its contents over the baking pie, then settled itself in the center of the cozily candlelit kitchen table. Neville had agreed to grade her third year exams (in exchange for a night on patrol, next term) and she had been free to leave school early for the night, the better to take full advantage of her favorite birthday activity—cooking. One of her favorite things on her birthday, strange as it might seem, was to give gifts and special treats and extra love to others—to Kingsley, to their daughter Cleo, to anyone and everyone she cared about. Kingsley had always loved this quirk of hers, because he, too, enjoyed spending time and energy on others more than himself.

She had already heard birthday wishes from Cleo (who was on an assignment in Peru), and apart from a slight hitch (a Patronus from Kingsley, promising that he was on his way home with dessert from her favorite bakery but would be a bit late), everything about her recipe was going to plan. The chicken and ham pie was nearly ready, the rolls were warm, and the asparagus was steaming in its serving dish. At last, she heard the front door swing open and beamed, turning away from the stove.

"I hope that's my favorite husband—oh, Kingsley, what's happened?"

Kingsley was trudging into the kitchen, looking more exhausted than Hestia had seen him in years. He dropped his briefcase near the door and came close, seizing her in a tight hug and kissing her firmly.

"Kingsley," she said, pulling back. "What on earth—?"

"Just stay still for a moment," he said gently, wrapping his arms around her more securely. "Tell me you're all right."

"Kingsley," whispered Hestia, returning his embrace, "I'm—I'm all right, of course I am—but—you're scaring me. What's happened?" At last, he pulled back; it had been a very long time since she had seen his face look so grave.

"Hermione," he said slowly, and Hestia's stomach turned over, "She's been poisoned."

It was as though something had sucked all of the air out of Hestia's lungs. "What?" she gasped. "But—what—_how?"_

Kingsley shook his head. "I don't know any of it, we haven't even issued a statement to the _Daily Prophet_—though I'm sure something will be in there by morning, it happened in the Leaky Cauldron—"

Hestia felt her knees give way and managed to get to a chair, feeling nauseous as she sank down. "You're…_what? _The Leaky Cauldron?"

Kingsley leaned against the countertop. "That's all I know. She went to the Leaky Cauldron, she ate or drank something with the poison in it, and now she's been taken to St. Mungo's."

"Thank goodness she's still alive," Hestia said weakly, holding a hand over her mouth. "Oh, what they must be going through—_Ron_, oh, has anybody spoken to Ron?"

"Harry's with him at the hospital, he reported to me so I could get the ball rolling on the _Daily Prophet_ rumor mill," Kingsley said heavily. "The Healers are doing everything they can."

A timer somewhere in the kitchen dinged, and Hestia leapt to her feet, hurrying over to the oven. Taking a rather long time in order to hide her face from Kingsley, she pulled out their dinner and set it on the stovetop beside the other plates. She stared at the pie for a moment and turned back to Kingsley.

"I—I don't feel very hungry," she said quietly. Then she rushed forward and hugged Kingsley again. "Why would anyone _do_ this?" she asked miserably. _"Why?"_

"Harry thinks…it's got to do with the House Elf Bill," Kingsley told her, rubbing his face hard. "I—you know, I've been through a great deal, Hestia, but I have never had anything like this happen…not since the war ended."

Hestia shook her head, holding a hand over her eyes. She still felt numb with shock. "I just can't believe it."

Kingsley rubbed his face with his hands once more and let out a breath. "Has Cleo Flooed yet?"

Hestia nodded. "I just spoke to her." Kingsley's face fell. "But I'm sure you could catch her, if you hurry."

Kingsley gave her a slight smile and straightened up from the counter. "I need to see both of my favorite people, tonight." Hestia met him for another hug. "And then, let's have dinner. I—I did bring your dessert." He pointed to a small white pastry box beside his briefcase.

Hestia kissed his cheek. "Go talk to your daughter. I'll finish getting things ready."

Kingsley nodded and started to leave, but paused in the doorway and looked back. "Happy birthday, Hestia. I love you."

"I love you too," she replied, feeling a dull ache in her stomach, and thinking a quick good thought for Ron and Hermione—that they would be able to say the same thing to each other, and soon. One look in Kingsley's eyes told her he was hoping for the same.


	44. Amelia Bones (1996)

Yay! Happy birthday Amelia Bones! I've always felt she would be exceedingly protective of her family, not only because of the Hufflepuff loyalty and all that, but her poor brother, and his family :(

I like to think she and Susan were very close, too - the only niece!

* * *

30 June 1996

"You say he doesn't look familiar, but he's following you?" Emily's brows were furrowed in concentration.

"I can't be certain," Amelia shrugged. "I was told that an Auror detail would be watching my movements, and I signed off on that, but I thought it would be covert. I've genuinely only seen him a handful of times, though. He could be a new neighbor, for all I know."

"Hm," said her sister-in law. "Well, would you like to stay here for a few days, Amelia? You know we'd love to have you."

"You know I would never put you all in danger," Amelia said seriously, and Emily sighed, but nodded.

"Auntie!"

"There's my girl!" Amelia cried, embracing Susan as she ran in the sitting room doorway, plaits swinging wildly in every direction. "Oh, Susan—how _are_ you?"

"I'm fine, I'm brilliant!" Susan said brightly, shedding her cloak; the mist that signaled the growing presence of dementors was particularly thick, today.

"Susie, you said you'd be home half an hour ago," Emily chided, rising from the sofa to hug her.

"I'm sorry, Hannah and I just got to talking, and—"

"Nothing will stop Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott from having a marvelous time," boomed Roger, Amelia's brother, who was coming into the room with hors d'oeuvres and drinks suspended before him on massive silver trays.

"Sorry, Dad," Susan said, going meekly to hug him. Then she looked right at Amelia. "But Hannah's mum Side-Alonged me right to the door, Auntie, I didn't walk from the Leaky Cauldron."

"Smart girl," Amelia said, tipping her a wink over her cocktail.

Susan shrugged and reached a hand into her pocket. "Anyway…happy birthday, Aunt Amelia." She blushed to the very roots of her dark red hair and held out a flat, wrapped box.

"Emily, dear—could you help me with dinner?" Roger asked, and Emily smiled.

"You two behave yourselves," she teased as she and her husband left the room.

"Well," said Amelia, sitting down in her chair once more, "This is a surprise."

Susan shrugged. "I'm almost sixteen now. I think I can get my aunt a gift on my own." She ruined her would-be casual tone by grinning hugely.

Amelia smiled and lifted the lid away. "Oh, Susan…" She withdrew from the velvet casing a brooch in the shape of a badger, studded with gems the topaz color of Hufflepuff House.

"I thought…since it was your Patronus," Susan said slowly, and Amelia silenced her in another huge hug. "And," said Susan against her shoulder, "That's not all, though—there's a second part to your present. Here—" And she pulled away from Amelia, stepping towards the fireplace, and raised her wand.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_ she cried, and from the end of her wand erupted a cloudy silver badger, which scampered once around the room and vanished.

"Susan, that's amazing!"

Emily and Roger had returned to the sitting room; Emily was beaming with pride as she met Amelia's eyes. Amelia was in a state of shock, simply sitting and staring at her niece in utter bemusement.

"You—but you—"

"Harry taught me," Susan said proudly. "Harry Potter." When Amelia could say nothing more, Susan blushed again. "Well, you said I ought to learn to defend myself."

And at last, Amelia laughed. "Well—I never imagined that _you_ might have been giving dear Dolores all that trouble, Susan Bones." Susan smiled and shrugged as if to say it was nothing.

"Going to turn her in, Amy?" Roger chuckled, settling down beside Amelia.

"Hardly!" Amelia laughed. "I can't think when I've been more proud."

And Susan rushed forward and hugged her.


	45. Gideon & Fabian Prewett (1977)

Yay for Fideon and Gabian! I love me some twins, as ever :) See you in about 12 hours with a second chapter! :)

Happy birthday to the original F&G!

* * *

5 July 1977

Molly sat down slowly and carefully at the breakfast table, her eyes half-open. She was getting over a nasty bout of the flu that had worked its way through all three of the boys. Percy, who had been sick first and was now quite recovered, was sitting in Arthur's lap at the table, babbling conversationally to Molly.

"Remind me to thank Bilius for those Popper Balloons he sent the boys," Molly grouched, cradling her head in her hands as a series of loud bangs echoed through the kitchen.

Arthur flashed her a quick smile before hurrying into the sitting room with Percy, where Molly could hear him offering some sort of bribe to keep Bill and Charlie quiet; she didn't mind, her head ached too badly to focus on anything but the teacup in front of her.

Then came a sudden knock at the kitchen door, and Molly groaned. Arthur hurried in from the sitting room and handed her Percy before going to the door, his wand drawn.

"Declare yourself!" he said.

"It's Fabian and Gideon—"

"Molly Weasley's favorite brothers—"

"And we took Arthur Weasley to Madam Zelda's for his bachelor party!"

Molly looked up, bemused, to see only the bright scarlet of Arthur's ears as he opened the door and Fabian and Gideon toppled in, grinning identically.

"Madam Zelda's, hm?" she asked, standing up and kissing Fabian's cheek as he took Percy and swung him into the air. Gideon promptly began hunting out food in the kitchen. He poked his head up from below the counter.

"Oh, it's just a house of ill repute, Molly, nothing to worry about," he assured her with an evil grin. Molly shook her head and glanced at Arthur, who was still blushing furiously. "Now, where are our birthday greetings?"

"Happy birthday, both of you," Molly beamed, wrapping her arms around Fabian and giving him another kiss, which he wiped off his cheek with a sleeve. "We all love you very much."

"Happy birthday," Arthur agreed.

Gideon and Fabian looked at each other. "That'll do, I suppose," Fabian said, and Molly smiled. Then he frowned at her. "You look sick," he said as she steered Gideon towards the breadbox. She turned.

"Well, thank you, Fabian, that's very kind," she said sarcastically.

"Nagh," Gideon mumbled through a mouthful of bread from his perch on the countertop. "Cee'uks ikeez gon hafanuh kid. Yoo prenner?" he asked Molly, pointing at her.

"Merlin's beard, you're right," Fabian said, his mouth falling open as he stared at Molly. Gideon gave a satisfied nod as Molly and Arthur continued to stare, nonplussed, back at them both.

"Beg your pardon?" Arthur laughed, as Gideon swallowed his enormous mouthful.

"I _said_—"

"We've all had the flu here," Molly said loudly. "Everything is just fine, now."

"And you just kissed me?" Fabian asked, appalled. He looked around at Percy. "Eurgh." Fabian held the baby at arm's length, eyeing him warily as he screeched with delight.

"Oh, be quiet, Fabian," said Molly. Then she rounded on Gideon. "And you, get off my counter and fetch yourself a plate. The only wild animals I let in my kitchen are—"

"Uncle Gideon! Uncle Fabian!"

"—right on cue."

The war cry of the Weasley boys echoed through the house as Bill came tearing into the kitchen, closely followed by Charlie, who was waving a Chudley Cannons Quidditch pennant. Fabian and Gideon immediately leapt into their roles as favorite uncles, but Molly found that the noise was just too much for her headache, which was worsening.

She excused herself from the kitchen and hurried through the sitting room to the bathroom in hers and Arthur's bedroom, where she hunched over the sink, taking deep breaths.

There were few things that Molly hated more than being sick, and as much as she loved her brothers and wanted to celebrate their birthday with them, she wanted them to go home so she could crawl back into bed and hope desperately that she would get better soon.

"Hey, Moll?" called Gideon's voice through the door.

She took a deep breath and tried to make her voice sound bright and natural. "The butter's in the pantry, Gideon," she called.

"No, open the door a second," he said.

Molly frowned, but did what he said and stared at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Gideon assured her. "Fabian and I are taking the brats out to Diagon Alley."

"Oh, no, Gideon—it's your birthday, you're not babysitting," Molly insisted.

"No, Moll, we've got it, they're getting all dressed now. But you and Arthur and Percy need to get to St. Mungo's, okay?" he said, smiling.

"What happened to Percy?" Molly choked, her eyes bugging. "I left the room two minutes ago!" She tried to run past Gideon, but he held her back.

"Ah, okay," he said, holding her arms. "Wow, sorry, not the thing to say to a mum—no, listen, Molly, _you_ need to see a Healer."

Molly gaped soundlessly at him for several minutes, unable to even formulate her words. "I told you—the boys gave me the flu, I am _fine_," she spluttered at last.

"Of course you are," Gideon insisted, still grinning. "I think you're pregnant, though."

Molly stared at him, her heart sinking. Had he really noticed so easily what she'd only just begun to suspect about herself? "No I'm not."

"I think you are."

"I'm not."

"I'm fairly sure."

"I can't be."

"Well, that part is entirely between you and Arthur," Gideon said, holding up his hands. "But look, you're nearly never sick and you've been acting weird, even for you, and I _know_ Arthur's worried, even if he doesn't want to say it. Do it for him, if my vote doesn't count for anything. And no, he didn't put me up to this," he added as an afterthought. "In a perfect world I'd be here for birthday cake and nothing else."

Molly gave a reluctant laugh, but sighed, annoyed, and fell silent for a moment. "Fine," she said at last. "Fine. But if one of my boys comes back—missing a limb, or—I don't know, whatever you and Fabian usually do to traumatize my sons—"

"You can force-feed me an Acid Pop, if you want to," said Gideon with a satisfied grin.

Molly stared at him. "Fabian doesn't mind?"

"Are you kidding? There is nothing we'd love to do more on our birthday than feed your children a lot of sweets and give them back to you for bedtime." Gideon grinned.

Molly sighed again. "Of course there isn't."

Gideon smiled and hugged her. "Well, maybe if you come back with good news, we'll go easy on you." Molly patted his back, and then he pulled away from her. "Now go see if you got us a birthday present, will you?"

Molly laughed. "All right, all right, we're going."


	46. Gideon & Fabian Prewett (1981)

Gideon and Fabian, round two! Now it's Fabian's time to be a cuddly brother! (This ties loosely to a chapter from Really, Arthur!)

* * *

5 July 1981

"So how was your fancy restaurant?" Gideon asked, leaning comfortably back into the sofa beside Fabian. Molly tipped back and forth slowly, sleepily in her rocking chair; she ought to have been thinking about knitting, what with the ten Christmas sweaters she had yet to make, but she really was too content, and too tired, to worry about them now.

"It was wonderful," she sighed, rubbing her very pregnant belly. "But Arthur and I have decided that we make you babysit too much."

"Ah, it doesn't bother us," Gideon told her.

"A quiet evening in is hard to come by, these days," Fabian agreed. "We get to have a birthday with the kids, you and Arthur get to have your anniversary in peace…" he shrugged and grinned, but Molly frowned slightly.

"Don't worry about us, Molly," Gideon said firmly.

"That's my job, you know that," She said, putting a hand out and patting his arm. Her eyes slid shut, and she sighed again. "But I'm a little sleepy…"

"Hey, you're not getting away that easy," Fabian chuckled. "Where's our salary? Your six little toadstools aren't all sunshine and kelpie bubbles."

"Arthur's bringing it," Molly told him, smiling.

"All six are out like lights," Arthur said in a tone of reverence as he came down the stairs.

"That'll be the firewhisky we gave them," Gideon said seriously.

"Molly, is the cake in the kitchen?" Arthur asked, ignoring him. "I've got the gifts."

At that moment, there was a sudden wail from one of the upper floors. "Sounds like someone needs another shot," Gideon said, hopping up. "I'll go, Arthur, it's just Ron—"

Molly stood up, too, holding her belly. "You two go and make sure Ronnie's all right. Fabian and I will get the birthday cake and tea. Come on, Fabian." As her brother followed her into the kitchen, he was fiddling with something at his wrist. "Something wrong with your watch?" she asked, opening the pantry.

"The clasp got—damaged—or something," Fabian grunted, fiddling with it. "Gid and I got caught in a duel with—" he seemed to realize what he was saying, and stopped, smiling at Molly. He slid his watch off his wrist and pocketed it. "I'll fix it when I've got time."

"That female Death Eater?" Molly asked, hoping her voice was light as she collected napkins from a drawer. "The—the one Dumbledore wanted you to follow?"

"Molly…I can't tell you that," Fabian said slowly. "You're not even supposed to know anything about it at all…"

"Oh, I think I should know _something_," she said, her voice going rather high. "I mean, if the next time I drop by your flat and I see one of those—_Marks—_hanging over it, I'd like to know who to kill—oof." She put a hand to the side of her belly and rubbed it; the baby had just kicked her quite hard.

"Molly…"

"This isn't a fight, Fabian, I—I'm not angry," she said honestly. Then she put out her hand. "Here, give it to me. The watch," she added, when he looked confused. "I'll fix it before you come round to dinner on Sunday."

Fabian handed her the watch, and slowly met her eyes. "You're a really good sister, Molly. Thanks. And—you know, I was thinking about—you all—and I think that, you know, after six really brilliant boys, it's time you had a girl. I think this is her, right here." He pointed at Molly's belly. "I think that's your Weasley girl. What?"

For Molly had just laughed. "I—I think it's a girl, too! But—don't tell Arthur, he—"

"Might faint," Fabian supplied, "Raising girls is not for the faint of heart. I mean, Gid and I did our best with you, and look how you turned out."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Well, then, don't make your pregnant sister carry all these heavy things herself, birthday brat."

"Ah, it's a Cannons cake!" Fabian said, coming around the counter to admire the electric orange icing. He kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Molly."

Molly smiled and patted his arm around her shoulder.


	47. Albus Dumbledore (1982)

YAY! IT'S PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE'S BIRTHDAY!

Let's be real people, is there anyone cooler? I think not. Happy birthday, Dumbledore!

:D Hope you all enjoy!

* * *

8 July 1982

Albus frowned across the chessboard at Minerva, who was drumming her fingers on the arms of her chair as though she were concentrating deeply, but her mind seemed to be elsewhere.

"Knight to C-3," she ordered, and the little black knight slid forward a few spaces.

Albus joined his fingertips under his chin. "Bishop to C-3." Then he looked up at Minerva, raising his eyebrows. "Check."

"Agh," Minerva made a noise of irritation and rolled her eyes as her knight was decapitated. "Could've seen that one coming."

"Could've," Albus agreed, picking up the pieces and moving them aside. "But didn't." He gave her a twinkling smile that she did not return; she was already staring at the board—this time, with real focus. "Minerva," he said, and she looked up. "I hope you won't think me rude, but—are you all right?"

Minerva opened her mouth slightly. "Oh—well—I—yes. I mean, yes, of course I am. Why do you ask?"

Albus shook his head, shrugging. "You seem…preoccupied by something."

"Just thinking of the best way to avoid being completely thrown over in this game," Minerva grumbled good-naturedly, clasping her hands under her chin and leaning forward. Albus nodded once and fell silent; Minerva did not like to be distracted while she strategized. Yet after only a moment, she looked up, one eyebrow arched imperiously. "Yes, Albus?"

"Nothing," he said calmly. "Go on."

Minerva drew a sharp breath in through her nose and folded her arms, looking businesslike. "All right, yes. I have something that I wish to discuss with you, but—it can most certainly wait until your imminent thrashing." She gestured to the chessboard.

"Perhaps," Albus said pleasantly, "in the spirit of fair play, and to return your deservedly competitive edge," he inclined her a little nod, "we may discuss it now. So that you may resume your winning strategy as quickly as possible." He too gestured to the chessboard, which, at the moment, was currently populated with many more white pieces than black.

Minerva shut her mouth, biting the inside of her lip. For a moment, she looked a little cowed, and—was that _fear?_ Why on earth was Minerva afraid to speak? A little flicker of unease started in Albus's stomach. Surely not—not after making it through all of these years…had something terrible happened? Yet another horror? Minerva, after all, was not so much younger now than his own mother had been when she had finally visited a Healer, when he had gotten Bathilda's letter…

Or, quite apart from her health—perhaps Minerva was worn, tired out from the strain of the last ten years. Heaven knew he was, but where Minerva was free to leave as she pleased…he had too many things he had to do until he could step aside, or rest too easy…

Minerva had folded her hands very tightly together and looked him squarely in the eye. "Albus, I—I have something that I—I've been meaning to share with you, for about two weeks now, and…well, I just…I wanted to say it to you in the right way, because—well, it's really a request. Now, before you go saying that you'll agree to anything, just—just wait. This might be a bit different, because it'll be a bit difficult to work out, and I certainly don't mean to make anything harder than it has to be, but—" she broke off, drawing a deep breath. "You see—"

Albus shook his head sadly, knowing what would come next. Though he certainly hadn't meant to be rude, he spoke over her next words. "We shall miss you, Minerva," he sighed.

Minerva blinked, frowning at him. "Excuse me?"

"I, of course, understand if you are…feeling ready to move on from Hogwarts," Albus said graciously. "It has been a difficult time, particularly this last year. But the staff—_I_ would certainly miss you, to say nothing of the students."

Minerva blinked. "I'm sorry. Did I just tender my resignation?"

Albus paused. "Did…you not?"

"No," she said slowly. "Albus, I said that Elphinstone…he asked me to marry him."

Albus stared at her blankly.

"It was two weeks ago," Minerva continued, in rather a small voice. "When he visited. And…well, I said yes," she blurted out. "And I thought that I'd wait for your birthday—to tell you. You're—you're one of my dearest friends, Albus, I haven't even told my brothers, yet." She reached a hand into the collar of her robes and withdrew a silver chain, upon which hung a lovely, delicate ring of braided gold, unclasping it to hold out to him.

Albus took it, admiring the intricate design, but he still found himself too stunned to speak. Minerva, however, didn't seem to mind. "And what I asked," she continued, "was whether or not…we might be allowed to have our wedding here, at Hogwarts."

Albus blinked and looked up at her. "Wedding?" he repeated.

"Oh, goodness, Albus, I know you're old, but you're not that old," Minerva said, and she looked rather faint with anxiety. "I know that it's a big favor to ask, so—just say no, if—"

"Minerva!" Albus cried, getting to his feet. "Oh, my word—where are my manners? Congratulations, my dear friend!" he said joyously, embracing her as she stood up, still looking very nervous. "Oh, my dear, it would be an honor for you to be married here! I don't know that Hogwarts has ever had a wedding," he said, putting one hand thoughtfully to his beard.

"So—that's a yes?" Minerva asked, still looking a little apprehensive.

Albus hugged her tightly again. "That is a resounding yes, my dear Professor McGonagall, and many congratulations to you and Elphinstone." Minerva laughed, sniffling over his shoulder.

"Why on earth did you think I was resigning?" she asked.

"Because I am a very foolish old man," he assured her, "who has been given a wonderful birthday present."

Minerva pulled back, beaming, and removed her spectacles to dab at her tears with a lacy handkerchief. "Happy birthday, Albus," she laughed in a watery sort of voice.


	48. Morgana & Godric Gryffindor II (1)

So... Lord knows why I included these two, but that I am a glutton for punishment and just love milking the absolute life out of the Ravenclaw story.

Anyway, for those who might not have read "The Second Pair," or for those who don't remember, Godric here is Godric Gryffindor II, son of *that* Godric Gryffindor and Helga Hufflepuff, and Morgana is his twin sister. Again, not *that* Morgana, as the interesting little plot bunny who wrote the second twin chapter here proved.

So yes. Happy birthday, critters I invented! I think these are the only two non-canon people I've included, apart from...eh, maybe like one other person. No names come to mind at the moment. Also, when twin chapter two comes along, I'm going to ask, for the first time ever, that (since a surprising brainwave led to its creation) you do not recreate, embellish upon, or recycle the idea in anything of yours _without asking my permission_. It's really nothing major, and it's totally still fanfiction, but it just seems like something I could re-work into a background detail for a novel I'm already working on.

ANYWHO! Happy birthday, magical made-up Gryffindor twins, and I hope you all enjoy the departure from reality that today's second chapter will be. XD

xo

Lucy

* * *

Helena floated through the library; as she passed, she thought she could hear the books whisper. Perhaps, even though she was gone, a shadow of what she had been only days since, they still knew her to be there, part of the world…

She heard a sniffle, and stopped; whoever it was—and it could be only her aunt, uncle, or cousins—she did not want to see. Fortunately, her footsteps made no sound anymore. Whomever was crying alone in the back of the shadowy library, they did not know she was there. She turned to leave, when she heard a high-pitched whimper.

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Helena peered around the end of the shelf. In the shadows beside a bookcase sat Morgana, her young cousin, crying bitterly. Helena narrowed her eyes; some vestige of her mortal affection for her little Morgan still lingered with her, but she wanted to be alone now, perhaps forever.

"Why are you staring at me?" Morgana asked, staring down at her knees. She raised her eyes and glared at Helena, fierce as any look her father could give. "Do you finally regret leaving us? Now that all has fallen apart, do you regret what you did?"

"Morgan," Helena said slowly, "My dear one…"

"Leave me be. You may _haunt_ the library when I have finished. I promise you shall have it much longer than I," Morgana spat angrily.

Helena was silent for a moment. "I do not deny what you say, Morgan—"

"Don't call me that!" Morgana retorted. "Helena called me that, not you! You're a shade, you are nothing but—but smoke, and falseness—"

Without warning, Morgana leapt to her feet, ran forward, and struck Helena across the face—but of course, her hand passed directly through Helena's head.

"You see?" she said coldly. "You are not real. You are a lie, just like the lies she used to tell us. Helena would say how much she loved us…and it was never true. It was as false as you are."

Helena could feel anger rising—not the faded memory of an emotion, but real anger—and retorted, "You spoilt, stupid girl, what do you think it takes to make a thing like me?"

Morgana glared at her. There were still tears on her flushed, red cheeks. "I do not care."

"I had always been told it was a choice, to become what I am," Helena said. "I made no choice. I came back for a reason—"

"You _are not back!"_ Morgana snapped. "You are not Helena!"

"Love, and concern, and worry for you—for your brother, your mother, your father—but most of all, for my own mother—"

"Am I to believe that?" Morgana scoffed. "You, who let her hunt for you for months, when I wrote to you, _begging _you to come home, _telling_ you what your mother had done—you worried about her? You let her die!"

The words rang out in the dusty library. If Helena had still had breath, it would have been taken away. Morgana—her young cousin—was not so anymore. She was a young woman, stoutly combined of both her parents, just as Helena was, and she was enraged.

"It is down to you, and your…disloyalty, your betrayal—that is what has destroyed what we once had," Morgana said. "And I will not stay here a moment longer than I must, if you insist upon being here as well."

"You will leave?" Helena sneered. "As I did?"

"I will not," Morgana replied. "I will finish my schooling. I will tell my parents of my plans—and most importantly, I will have them in my life. I will have my brother in my life, always. And—" here her chin trembled, and she clenched her teeth. "And I had wanted two others as part of my life, as well…but they are gone. I cannot have them any longer." But she seemed unable, or unwilling, to say anything further, and passed Helena quickly, storming from the library.

"Morgan," Helena called, and she stopped, but did not turn around. "Will you forgive me?"

Morgana turned, her dark eyes narrowed, and fixed Helena with a long, hard stare. At last, she drew a breath and replied, "Not today."

"Where are you going?" Helena asked, and she stopped again.

"To find my brother. He has a gift for me," Morgana said coldly. "He has, at least, managed to remember that we are sixteen today."


	49. Morgana & Godric Gryffindor II (2)

Again, this might seem a little out of place, but...there were Dark Wizards before Voldemort, right? And, hey...this was a pretty fun idea to toy with.

* * *

Godric groaned, leaning back in his chair, and stroked his thick white beard as he surveyed his sister. "Well, your grandchildren are making a fine mess of things, no?"

Morgana scoffed as she paced the length of the room, leaning on her staff. "My granddaughter takes after me, you mean."

"Perhaps," he chuckled.

"This is not a laughing matter, Godric, this is about the safety of Avalon—my home," Morgana pleaded. "I need you and any whom you can rouse to help you. Morgana must be brought back to Avalon before her wave of destruction erases it entirely. I can keep her there, but not without help."

"I do not understand how this has escaped your control, cousin. Merlin looks after them, does he not?"

Morgana looked to Helena, who floated near the window of Godric's wide, round office. "You remember Merlin?"

"Somewhat," Helena shrugged, turning to gaze out of the window again.

"She remembers how _you_ carried a burning—"

"Godric, really," Morgana snapped. "That was three-quarters of a century ago, and you are wasting my time every moment you do not answer me."

"Do not make me remember my age, sister," Godric grumbled.

"_Our_ age, brother," said Morgana, "And I need not, when your beard does so every morning in the glass."

"What do you make of this _Arthur_, Morgan? Your grandson?" Helena asked. "Surely he must have some aptitude, if his sister is gifted as you say."

Morgana shook her head. "I find the boy slow-witted and magically deficient, with a useless, manipulative lump of a wife. He is a charismatic and charming lad, to be sure, but beyond that…he will not lead for long. This period of unity will last, however, so long as Merlin manages to keep my Morgan at bay. But he will not be able to do so for much longer without assistance."

"And what will you give me, sister, for my agreement?" Godric asked.

Morgana sighed. "I cannot give you Avalon, you know that. I will not, so long as I breathe. But…" she paused, and she could see Godric pretending not to listen intently to her every word, "I could, perhaps, ensure that…once we are both gone…the school becomes yours."

"Once I am gone, what use have I for it?" Godric asked, frowning.

"I would have the name Gryffindor die with us," Morgana said. "You have no children; my daughters have not carried on the name of our family—"

"I took care of my side of things some years hence," said Helena dryly; Morgana shook her head.

"We need not try to overshadow our parents," she continued gently. "That is all I say—and by joining Avalon's power with that of Hogwarts, we risk doing just that. I would much rather the names Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and—do not look at me like that, Godric, you did not even know the man himself—and Slytherin to belong to our parents alone."

"And when your Dark little granddaughter manages to become history's only Morgan?" Godric asked.

"I care not for that, so long as you help me see to it that history says she was vanquished. But…if you do, then…Avalon will join with Hogwarts—but it will not belong to you. It is too great a place to belong to anyone," Morgana added softly. She stopped her pacing and sighed, clutching her staff with both hands. "Please, brother.

"Morgan."

Morgan turned and looked at the ghost of Helena.

"If your brother will not…I will. I will rally defenses for you in any way I can," the ghost said earnestly.

Morgana drew a slow breath. "Thank you. Godric?"

"Oh, very well," he grouched at last, waving a hand. "But I shall need a place to stay, when we have dealt with your girl. I am too old to be traipsing all around the country. You have Father's sword?"

"Waiting for you at Avalon—Godric, _thank you_," Morgana said. "You have saved us all."

"Only because the shadow of our dear cousin manages to maintain her stranglehold on my conscience," Godric rumbled, getting to his feet.

"My pleasure," Helena said sardonically.


	50. Louis Weasley (2021)

Yay for Louis Weasley, and headcanon next-gen FOR THE WIN! :) Also, Lou here is obviously chapter fifty, which, I can now confirm, is more than halfway through this story! YAY! Forty more chapters to go!

* * *

18 July 2021

"Hey."

Louis looked around. Victoire had come out onto the beach, to find him, no doubt, and was standing at the base of the large rock he was perched upon. He gave her half a smile. "Hi."

"All right there?" she asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

He nodded. "Just thinking."

"Can I think with you?"

"If you must." Louis offered her a hand, and Victoire clambered up onto the rock beside him. "Merlin's pants, you're short—oof—there." Victoire elbowed him and sat down, stretching out her bare feet in front of her. Louis looked at her. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping? You'll look hideous, and Teddy won't want to get married."

Victoire smiled, although something in her jaw seemed a little tight. "I'll be okay. I'm too excited to sleep."

"Excited or nervous?" Louis asked.

"I'm sticking with excited, for the moment," Victoire told him, and he snorted.

"Look, you have nothing to worry about, all right—"

Victoire shook her head. "We don't need to talk about it, Lou, it's—it's okay. I know. Everything's fine."

Louis frowned. "Okay."

They were both quiet for several minutes, watching the waves wash over the rocks. It was surprisingly warm tonight, cloudless and clear, and the cool sea breeze felt good on their faces.

"I'm sorry we had to have the rehearsal today," Victoire said at last. "You know I wanted it taken care of before your birthday."

"I don't mind," Louis shrugged. Victoire smiled. "No, really," he insisted. "It's fine. I kind of liked it, actually."

Victoire put a hand on his forehead. "Do you feel okay?"

Louis laughed. "I'm fine. I just—"

"Who's having a sibling party without me?" Dominique had arrived, and was climbing over the rocks. She was much taller than Fleur and hopped up beside them in one leap, like a mountain goat.

"Oh, that's right," Victoire said, "We've been meaning to tell you—"

"You're adopted," Louis finished, and Dominique pinched his arm.

"I'm failing in my duties as maid of honor," she told Victoire.

"I'm not tired," Victoire replied. "And stop trying to dose me with that sleeping potion."

"It was Aunt Ginny's idea," Dominique said. "Don't hex the messenger."

All three of them fell silent for a few minutes. Louis stole a sidelong glance at Dominique, who was frowning at Victoire, who, in turn, was determinedly avoiding looking at either of them. He caught Dominique's eye and nodded. "Nose goes, one-two-_three!"_

He and Dominique were quickest, and Victoire groaned.

"Go on, tell us what's on your mind," Dominique said, grinning widely.

"I'm fine," Victoire insisted.

"I hope you aren't trying to bend the sacred Weasley family law. Nose goes, so _go_," Louis said, puffing himself up indignantly, and Victoire laughed.

"Of course not," she said, rolling her eyes. "All right. I was just—I spent a fair bit of today thinking that—that maybe Teddy and I are too young to be doing this. And…I don't want to back out, but…maybe it would've been smarter to wait, or—or something…" She trailed off.

"Is _that_ all?" Dominique demanded. "It's the middle of the bloody night, and you've got me out here to ask whether you ought to marry the boy you've been in love with since you could walk?"

"Have _not!"_ Victoire insisted, shoving her shoulder. "That's not true at all!"

"I recall having a wedding ceremony for you two when I was about four, in the back garden at the Burrow," Louis supplied, and Victoire swatted his head.

"I officiated," Dominique told her matter-of-factly.

"That did _not_ happen," said Victoire.

"Three Galleons says Granddad brings it up in his toast tomorrow," Louis said, extending a hand to Dominique.

She shook it. "You're on."

Victoire looked at them. "You know that's not what I meant. I—I'm just…I'm wondering if we've made the right choice, instead of waiting. I thought I was ready, but—all of a sudden, I'm not sure I should be allowed to make this kind of decision."

Dominique and Louis shared a long-suffering look. "You're older than Mum was when she married Dad," Dominique said. "What does it matter, anyway?"

"Twenty-one just doesn't seem that old," Victoire said earnestly. "What am I saying—it's _not _old, at _all, _and—what if it's too early, what if—"

"Okay, Vic—okay, I—I know what you mean," Louis said quietly. His sisters looked around at him, but he avoided their gaze. He got to his feet and stepped onto a nearby rock, kicking at a patch of lichen. "I was kind of thinking the same thing, today, actually. When I was watching you," he told Victoire. He felt—was that a lump in his throat? He swallowed it hastily. "When Dad was practicing walking you down the aisle."

Victoire and Dominique stared at him. He could feel the back of his neck growing hot.

"I just thought…well, you're twenty-one, sure, but…I'm seventeen today, and—and I'm going to be a seventh year, and…well, Uncle Harry, he said something weird at dinner tonight. I think he was just joking with me, but it got me thinking. He said that—his seventeenth birthday, he was getting ready for a wedding too," Louis hurried on. "Mum and Dad's, right? But…after that, I mean…he didn't get to go back to Hogwarts. He didn't have a seventh year, and—I dunno, it's just—it's a weird thought." And he sat down again, still on the nearby rock. Neither of his sisters said anything.

"So, I'm saying," Louis said slowly, "I get what you mean, Vic. I get why you're worried. It seems like everyone in our family was a lot older than us when they were our age."

Victoire stared at him for a moment. "That's exactly what it feels like."

"Well, what's new there?" Dominique asked. "Does that mean we can't do what they did?" She spoke with such finality, that Louis couldn't think of anything more to say; nor, apparently, could Victoire. Dominique sighed and lay down, stretching out next to Victoire on the rock; Victoire did the same, and Louis sprawled out on his own perch. All three of them were quiet for a long time, listening to the waves crash over the rocks.

Louis let the sea spray hit his face a few times before her finally hoisted himself up on his elbow again. "Look, Vic…Dominique and I will always be here for you, that's—that's non-negotiable, it's just what we're supposed to do—but Teddy's always _wanted_ to be there for you…if that makes any difference."

Victoire didn't move or look at him, and Louis lay back down. Then he heard a sniffle and rolled his eyes.

"Being seventeen is supposed to make you _more _intolerable, Louis Weasley," Victoire squeaked, and Dominique snorted with laughter.

"Oh, come here, you nasty, married old bat!" she cried, throwing her arms around Victoire, who began to wail, partly from laughter.

"Incoming!" Louis shouted, and he tackled his sisters off the rocks and into the sand.


	51. Nymphadora Tonks (1995)

Womp-womp. Who forgot about poor Tonks' birthday?

ME.

So sad. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TONKS MY LOVE! I ADORE YOU!

* * *

27 July 1995

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

Tonks frowned down at the slip of paper, unsure if she had read it correctly. It seemed she had, but there was certainly no number twelve on this shabby little lane of houses, where the brutally hot weather had already scorched the miniscule patches of grass before the dreary-looking homes.

"Number twelve," she murmured, lifting an eyebrow. Neither Mad-Eye nor Kingsley had ever led her wrong before, and Dumbledore was not the sort to make a silly mistake like this—

"Look up once in a while, Nymphadora."

Tonks jumped and spun around, her heart hammering in her chest. It was Mad-Eye. He was leaning against a wrought-iron fence that had sprung from nowhere, directly in front of her. Behind him was a dark-colored, dilapidated old house marked with a large, tarnished number twelve beside the door. His good eye was fixed on her severely while his magical one spun in every direction.

"I—"

"I know, I know. But you've got to pay attention to your surroundings. Constant vigilance," he growled, stumping forward a few paces and opening the gate. "Now get in unless you want to end up like Portia Grunting."

"What happened to Portia Grunting?" Tonks asked interestedly, hurrying up the front steps.

"Never you mind," Mad-Eye muttered. He caught her hand as she reached for the enormous serpent-shaped doorknocker. "No—don't knock. Just go in."

Tonks put a hand to the tarnished handle and pushed; the door swung easily open, but she looked back at Mad-Eye. "Why can't I knock?"

"Hush. Get in." He prodded her in the back, making her move forward, but—

"What—argh—ouch!"

"Tonks, for—"

With a crash that seemed to echo through the whole house, Tonks stumbled and fell, spread-eagled, over what appeared to be a very large—_leg._

"What in the name of Merlin _is_ that?" she cried, scrambling back to her feet, but her voice was drowned out by another, shriller, horrible voice that was screaming in apparent agony. Tonks spun around and saw a massive, life-size painting of a hideous old woman in a black gown, who was howling madly, her eyes rolling in her head—

"FILTH! STAINS OF DISHONOR! MUDBLOODS! HALF-BREEDS SMEARING YOUR FILTH IN THE HALLS OF MY ANCESTORS! SLIME!"

"Get out of it, you old cow!"

Someone shoved Tonks aside, and Mad-Eye and Kingsley rushed forward and began wrestling with the curtains of the painting—with a loud bang from the Kingsley's wand, the curtains whooshed shut, and the old woman's screaming stopped.

"Leave it to you to make an entrance, Tonks," he said with a grin. He bent down and righted the thing that Tonks had fallen over. It appeared to be a large, severed troll's leg that had been converted into an umbrella stand. "Good to see you."

"You too," Tonks replied in a rather shaky voice; she had never seen a painting behave that way, nor such grotesque interior decoration.

"Let's get in the kitchen," Mad-Eye muttered, passing Tonks. "Old bat…"

"Come on," Kingsley said, laying a hand on her shoulder. "The meeting is going to start any minute."

"I—I-I'm really sorry," Tonks stammered. "I didn't mean to—"

But Kingsley was smiling. "Don't worry about it. Come on." And he led the way through a massive, dark foyer. The whole house smelt of rot and decay; Tonks had to close her eyes quickly to pretend that she didn't see an enormous rat scuttling along the baseboard in the shadows. Everything was coated in cobwebs and dust. This place looked barely habitable for humans, let alone the leaders of the resistance against You-Know-Who.

Actually, come to think of it, if Tonks had thought You-Know-Who to be the sort who owned a townhouse in London…

She gripped her wand a little tighter and hurried after Kingsley's retreating back. He and Mad-Eye led the way down a dark staircase. They emerged into a wide cellar room, lit with dingy-looking gas lamps that hung from the ceiling. In here, at least, it seemed that somebody had been trying to clean up a bit. Near the back of the room, Tonks could see a tall man with thinning red hair, bent over a piece of parchment with a black-haired man, talking seriously.

A plump, middle-aged woman with bright red hair and a warm smile came bustling forward at once to greet them. "Oh, there you are, Mad-Eye, and—is this the Auror? Hello, dear, I'm—"

"Mrs. Weasley," Tonks gasped, shaking her hand. "I know you!"

Mrs. Weasley blinked, looking rather startled. "Oh—oh, my dear, I'm so sorry—I don't believe I know you."

"N-no, sorry," Tonks said quickly, "You wouldn't. I'm a friend of Charlie's. Or—we were in the same year, at school. I was in Hufflepuff."

"Tonks?"

"Bill!" she cried, waving across the kitchen; Bill had stood up from the table.

"_You're_ the Auror Kingsley and Mad-Eye have been raving about—ouch," Bill threw Mad-Eye (who had just trod on his foot with his false leg) a filthy look as he passed. He gave Tonks a hug.

"What, you didn't think I could do it?" she laughed.

"Mum, Tonks is the only person who ever outflew Charlie in a Quidditch match. Remember?" Bill said, turning to his mother. "He wouldn't come out of his room for a week."

"Hufflepuff won the Cup," Tonks shrugged, blushing furiously.

"Of course, dear, I remember hearing about you now. I'm Molly Weasley—and over there is my husband Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said, giving her a very warm hug before gesturing to the tall, red-haired man across the kitchen, who waved distractedly and continued his conversation with Mad-Eye.

Tonks beamed. "Where is Charlie? He's here, isn't he?"

"He's been on duty, I think, he should be arriving any minute," Bill said, checking his watch.

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "And Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall as well—everyone, let's get seated, we're running late as it is—"

Tonks frowned. "On duty?"

"Nymphadora."

Tonks looked around as Bill snorted behind her. She elbowed him in the ribs. A youngish man with untidy black hair and a measurable growth of stubble on his chin was staring at her, his arms folded as he leaned back in his seat. He looked amused.

"It's Tonks," she informed him. "I don't go by my first name."

The man laughed. "Yeah, your mother never cared for her name much, either."

"Excuse me?" Tonks asked, startled.

"Sirius, for God's sake, don't scare her off," Mad-Eye barked across the kitchen.

The man grinned and sat forward, extending a hand. "I'm Sirius Black. I'm your…first cousin, once removed. I think that's it."

Tonks blinked and shook her head. "Excuse me?" she repeated, as a huge wave of people came into the kitchen at once, most of whom she recognized from work; Hestia Jones, Dedalus Diggle, and a few others.

"And I'm not a murderer, either, you might as well know," Sirius informed her.

"Er—oh, I—" Tonks stammered.

"Don't worry about it," Sirius said, still grinning at her. "Welcome to your family home. Have a seat."

Tonks hurried to sit down beside Sirius. "You mean—this place belongs to the Blacks—er—to you?"

"And your mum used to get dragged round here on holidays," Sirius said, his expression darkening slightly. "But let's not dwell on the past…you'll get to know all the connections around here very soon. Oh, Merlin's—"

Three people had come into the kitchen in the wake of the others. Professor McGonagall, tall and severe-looking as ever, was frowning as she walked beside Professor Dumbledore, who was deep in conversation with—

"Not _Snape_," Tonks groaned under her breath. "What's he doing here?"

Sirius looked around at her and smiled. "I think you and I are going to get along, Tonks."

"What did I miss?" Another man with graying hair was sitting down on Sirius's other side; Tonks couldn't see his face.

Sirius tipped his chair back on two legs. "Nothing, yet. Nice of you to join us, though, Moony." And as he leaned back, Tonks saw that the man was not as old as the gray in his hair seemed to indicate; rather, he looked to be quite as young as Sirius. He smiled gently as he spoke, pushing Sirius's chair onto four legs once more.

"You're going to break your neck."

"Thanks, Mum," Sirius replied. "How's Harry?"

"Fine. Getting very fed up with his family, I can tell you that much," said the other man.

Sirius's knuckles whitened as he clenched his hand into a fist. "If they'd just let _me_ go, I could—"

"Harry Potter?" Both men looked around at Tonks. "Er—sorry," she said. "I just—were you talking about Harry Potter?"

"He's my godson," Sirius said, rather defiantly; Tonks got the impression that he was taking personally the nasty stories that the _Daily Prophet_ had been printing recently about the Potter boy.

"What Sirius means is _yes_, Harry Potter, and we have all been doing our utmost to keep him safe over the last several weeks," explained the other man. For the first time, Tonks's eyes met his—and her stomach seemed to twist into a knot. "But Sirius knows that Harry is safest with his aunt and uncle, as Dumbledore—"

"Enough, Remus," Sirius muttered, waving a hand. "Tonks, this is Remus Lupin. Lupin, you remember hearing about Andromeda's daughter? Here she is. Meet. Enjoy."

"Pleasure," said Remus warmly, shaking her hand. "Always nice to meet the relatives Sirius can stand to be around."

"We're ready to begin, now, if you can all take your seats!" called Professor McGonagall sharply, and there was a general murmur of assent and scraping of chairs to get seated. Professor McGonagall took her place on Dumbledore's right. "Convening this meeting on the twenty-seventh of July."

Professor Dumbledore rose; for a moment, his blue eyes lingered on Tonks, who had sat forward eagerly, her elbows on the table, and he smiled. "Thank you all for coming…"

"That's right," Sirius muttered, tipping back in his chair again to speak in her ear. "Happy birthday."

Tonks looked around at him, distracted momentarily from Dumbledore. "You know my birthday?"

"Your mum gave me the guts to turn my back on this stupid family, because she did it first. And just look what it's done to my mother's kitchen," Sirius whispered back. Then he grinned at her. "So yes, I remember when you were born. Happy birthday."

Tonks blinked. Perhaps it was the matter-of-fact way Sirius spoke, or the way she was treated by everyone she had met thus far, but for the first time, she felt at home here, amongst people who knew exactly what they were doing, and why it mattered. She belonged to the Order of the Phoenix.

"Thanks."


	52. Neville Longbottom (1999)

I always sort of imagined that Hogwarts commencement took place considerably later than school let out...and I might be pushing it here, but it seems to make sense that this year, things would be delayed. :) Anywho, drop a review! I think we all know who's coming tomorrow ;)

Happy birthday, Neville. Words cannot express what you, as a character, mean to me.

* * *

30 July 1999

Neville sat by himself on the banks of the lake and gazed up at Hogwarts, illuminated by the golden glow of the setting sun.

"I thought you were having dinner with your grandmother."

He turned and smiled at Luna. "I am, later."

"Are you all right?" she asked quietly, taking a few steps forward.

"Of course I am," said Neville, smiling. "I was just thinking about some things. Have a seat."

She smiled and sat down beside him, smoothing her flowered blue dress over her knees. "Have you had a good birthday?"

He shrugged. "Yes and no."

She nodded, looking up at the castle. "I don't want to say goodbye, either. I never thought that sitting through a graduation ceremony would be so difficult."

For a long moment, Neville didn't say anything. Then he cleared his throat. "Remember when we were fixing that parapet, last summer?"

Luna smiled and pointed up at the turret. "It looks a little lopsided, to me."

He snorted. "We did a lot of work, though. We fixed almost everything."

Luna seemed, almost at once, to understand him. "Yes," she said quietly. "Almost."

Neville shook his head; a sudden breeze off the water had just made his eyes smart. "That's all I was thinking."

"About the things we couldn't fix?" Luna asked. She touched his hand, and he nodded.

"And…how I wish there was some way to fix them. I—I would've liked that, today," he said quietly. "And I know Gran would've done, too."

Luna let out a breath, drawing her knees close to her chest, and placed her chin on them. "Well, Neville…I guess that means that we have to consider carefully whether or not the things we _could_ fix…have eased the pain of what we couldn't." She looked sideways at him, "However unfair it may be that we can't change them."

Neville smiled slightly; Luna smiled too, and gently wiped something from his cheek. Then she got on her knees, leaned forward, and put her lips directly next to Neville's ear. "They were here," she whispered, "They saw everything."

A sudden lump rose in his throat, and he threw his arms around Luna; she hugged him back fiercely.

"So was she," he told her, and Luna nodded. After several minutes, the broke apart, and Luna moved beside him again, wiping her eyes on her skirt.

"Are we the last ones left?" Neville asked, checking his watch. It was getting late.

"Not exactly," Luna said. "Actually…yes, look—there they are."

Neville turned around; coming along the bank were Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The girls were still in their clothes from the ceremony; Harry and Ron had dispensed with some of the formalities of their robes.

"Happy birthday, Neville!" Ginny said excitedly, as he stood up to greet them.

"Nice day for it," said Harry, grinning.

"Can't complain," Neville agreed. "Are you all heading off to Ron's?"

"You are, too," Hermione told him. "Your grandmother's already there."

Neville blinked. "What?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I got the big party last year—it's your turn."

"Graduation party, mate—come on, my mum makes great cakes," Ron said. "Luna's coming."

Neville looked at Luna, who smiled. "Your grandmother _is_ waiting," she said.

Neville stared at them, all five smiling eagerly, and laughed. "So…I'm being ambushed?"

Ron shook his head sadly and pulled Neville into a headlock. "One day he'll learn to trust us," he said. "Come on, you lot, McGonagall's waiting at the gate."

"McGonagall?" Neville spluttered, trying to break free of Ron's grasp.

"Well, she's coming too, of course," Luna said matter-of-factly. She had linked arms with Ginny and Hermione, and they all walked a few paces behind the boys; Harry had pinned Neville's arms to his sides and was helping Ron restrain him.

"Hang on," Hermione said suddenly, as they reached the gates. Professor McGonagall could be seen near the winged boars, talking to Professor Flitwick. "Stop for a moment." And Hermione turned around. Ron released Neville, and he straightened up. He, Harry, and Ron joined the girls, all looking up at the silhouette of Hogwarts.

Neville took a slow breath, smelling the air for a moment; it was summery and dry, with just a hint of the day's heat left in it. He felt Luna slip a hand into his, and Ginny take hold of his other one. Hermione leaned her head on Ron's arm.

"Well, it's more or less in the same condition as when you all walked in," said Professor McGonagall's voice from behind them. Neville looked around; she was smiling—actually smiling—but in the most heartbreaking way, as she gazed at the six of them.

"More or less," said Neville. Then he looked at the others. "Come on. Let's go."


	53. Harry Potter (1998)

Three hours early! Because I am so very sleepy. XD

Happy birthday, Harry Potter, and an even bigger happy birthday to my personal hero. :)

* * *

31 July 1998

Ginny leaned against him, and Harry put an arm around her shoulders. The Burrow's garden had finally gone quiet at the end of a very large birthday party that the Weasleys had thrown for him, and Harry was feeling sleepy and full of delicious food—Ginny was proving to be quite as good a cook as her mother, recently, but where Mrs. Weasley had needed help with most aspects of tonight's meal, she had insisted that she alone make Harry's enormous birthday cake.

Harry had never been so happy to witness Ginny argue with her mother; it had felt like the first time Mrs. Weasley had been herself again all summer, not to mention the cake was as good as ever. He had eaten far too much.

Ginny sighed happily. "Happy birthday, Harry."

"How did we do, Harry?" Hermione asked, coming with Ron to sit down beside him and Ginny on the grassy lawn. "Did you have a good time?"

"Best birthday party I've ever had," Harry said sleepily.

"Yeah," Ron said, cracking open a couple of butterbeers and passing one to Harry, "Out of all three you've had, the best one."

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione and Ginny said in unison, but Harry and Ron both roared with laughter.

"Cheers, mate," Ron said, tapping his bottle against Harry's, and they drank.

"How many have you had tonight?" Ginny asked.

"It's medicinal," Hermione told her. "Didn't you hear them last night?"

"You mean did I hear the herd of hippogriffs that came stomping into our bedroom at one o'clock in the morning?" Ginny asked. She looked at Harry. "How's your wrist, popkin?"

"Not as injured as his pride," Hermione interrupted, stealing Ron's butterbeer and taking a sip. "And why didn't I mend the scrapes, Harry?"

"To teach me that hangovers won't be cured by magic, either," he said obediently, as Ginny examined the marks on his arm. "Thanks, Hermione."

She grinned at him. "Tell me again how you fell off the roof?"

"We don't recall the details," Ron said delicately, and Harry smirked.

Hermione sat back on her hands and looked up at the darkening sky. "It was nice to see everyone," she said.

"Away from the work at Hogwarts, you mean," Ginny said. "Yeah, it was."

There was a very long moment of silence, and Ginny rested her head on Harry's shoulder.

"Hey, are Luna and Neville going out?" Ron asked suddenly.

"What?" Hermione asked.

Ron shrugged. "I just noticed them together a lot tonight, I thought they might be…"

"No!" Ginny told him. "Don't you think they would have told us?"

"They are _not_ going out," Hermione said. "They're _friends_. Honestly, Ron, just because two people are friends—"

"Watch what you say there, Hermione," Harry laughed. "Hey, hang on a minute—I'll be right back." He got to his feet, dusting his hands on his jeans.

"Where are you going?" Ginny asked.

"Er—bathroom," Harry lied, heading for the kitchen door. He had to take care of something. "Erm…Mrs. Weasley?" He pushed open the door.

Mrs. Weasley was already in her dressing gown, her pale face creased with a frown as she scribbled something down on a scrap of parchment. She looked up at Harry over her spectacles.

"Harry, dear," she said happily, "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," he said quickly, "I'm fine, I just—" he closed the door and came to sit down beside her. "I just wanted to say good night, and—thanks. It was a really great party, and…I appreciated it."

"Oh, not at all—what on earth did you do to your wrist?" Mrs. Weasley asked in shock, her eyes going wide. She picked up his hand and looked at the long, angry red scrapes. "That looks terribly painful."

"No, it's okay," Harry assured her with a grin.

"You make sure I give you something for that in the morning, will you?" Mrs. Weasley said. He nodded.

"What are you working on?" he asked.

"Just a list of things I'll need from Diagon Alley, when I find the time to get there," she said, scribbling down something else. "And I'd like to get some food from the grocer's in town…"

"We can do all that for you," Harry said at once. "We'll—"

"I can manage," Mrs. Weasley said, with a knowing look. "I haven't done much around the house, lately, and you four have been doing a lot of the work. I can step in."

"We just…" Harry trailed off. He wanted to say a lot of things—that Mrs. Weasley deserved the break, that she deserved to take all the time she needed, because he cared about her, and because losing anyone else, in any way…

Mrs. Weasley's thin hand closed on his wrist. "Don't worry about me, sweetheart."

Harry stared down at the tabletop and shook his head quickly; he couldn't speak. His cheeks were burning hot and there was a very large lump in his throat. And then, just like she had done ages and ages ago, Mrs. Weasley hugged him, drawing him close to her. It felt so good, so welcome, that it was a very long time before Harry felt able to sit up again and look her in the eye.

Mrs. Weasley had tears on her cheeks, too, but she smiled at him.

"You didn't know my parents, did you, Mrs. Weasley?" he asked.

She sniffed and shook her head. "My brothers did, but no…I never got to meet them."

Harry swallowed, trying to phrase this thought in a way that wouldn't upset her. "I…I think that…they would thank you, for everything you've done for me," he said. Mrs. Weasley blinked quickly. "And…I think that if they had the chance to do the same for you…they would."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes filled with tears again and spilled over. "My sweet boy," she said, and Harry hugged her again. She kissed the side of his head. "Thank you," she whispered. "Happy birthday."


	54. Godric Gryffindor

So...this took some weird turns, in the writing of. Hope you like it. It's just...it's just a little strange. Not unlike myself. Probably why I got a kick out of writing it; we identified with each other.

:D Reviews are forever welcome and appreciated deeply!

xx

* * *

"Salazar, I…I do not know what to say to you," Helga said, breaking the long silence in the wide, round room that they four shared as their office.

"How could this have happened?" Rowena demanded, finding her voice. "If the girl was in simply in a corridor, then surely—surely she could have been brought to our attention—you could have surely brought her to Helga, before—"

"Don't you see, Rowena?" Godric said in a low voice. He was leaning against a bookcase, his eyes narrowed in a startling look of hatred as he gazed upon Salazar, who stood alone in the middle of the room. "He is lying."

"Lying, Godric?" Salazar asked coolly. "I do not know what you mean to suggest."

"I _suggest_ nothing, Slytherin!" Godric shouted, and Helga stepped forward, seizing his arm.

"Enough," she whispered at him, looking fiercely up into his eyes; he relented, turning his back on Salazar.

Helga took a deep breath and looked at Rowena, who nodded curtly. "Salazar," she said slowly, "You know that Rowena and I expressed our…concerns…when you suggested holding the school open for our summer months, tutoring those students who wished to stay. We were pleased to agree, when it seemed like the best compromise that could be reached—"

"Yes, your hot-headed husband has made it abundantly clear that this enterprise was _my_ undertaking," Salazar snapped. "That you three bear none of the responsibility—"

"We _all_ bore a responsibility for that girl's life!" Godric shouted suddenly, wheeling around. "Her safety was our responsibility, and now, she—she—"

"She is _alive_, Godric," Rowena said evenly. "However precarious that truth may be, it is what is important now. Calm yourself."

"This is what I have fought against since my earliest days among you," Salazar said coldly, his black eyes fixed on Godric. "I have told you my concerns, confided in you my deepest fears for your—_policies_. And you have ignored them."

"We are discussing the cursed girl, Salazar, not your odious opinions on blood status," Godric spat furiously.

"They are one and the same!" Salazar shouted, and Helga took a step back; he looked mad. Rowena, too, withdrew against the bookcase. Her hand slipped into the folds of her gown. "If your stupid, headstrong girl had not been so insistent upon following me and my students to where she did not belong, where she was not welcome—"

"_Does your paranoia know no bounds?"_ Godric roared. "A girl lies, seriously ill, in this castle, and the fault lies with you—and yet you use this as a platform to once again further your narrow-minded, cowardly, inexcusable—"

"Godric, _enough!"_ Helga shouted.

"I will not stand here and be accused of destruction when all I wish is to rebuild the purity of our kind!" Salazar shrieked, his eyes popping madly.

"All of you, be _quiet,"_ Rowena said loudly. Salazar looked around at her. "The fact of the matter is, Salazar, that Godric's student was cursed by something truly Dark, a spell we do not teach here, and it seems to have come at the hands of one of your students. Whatever the contributing factors may be—there is an important piece of this story I think you are withholding."

"I?" Salazar asked coldly. "How could I hide anything from the most accomplished Legilimens of our age?" he sneered.

"Do not mock me," she retorted. "Tell the truth."

Salazar held up his palms. "I do not understand what you seem so intent on knowing."

"How," Helga said slowly, but with anger plain in her voice, "did this come to pass? We want only the full story."

Salazar blinked coolly and moved his eyes to Rowena's, as though he was challenging her to read the truth within him. He spoke slowly and deliberately. "Several of my pupils found the girl as we concluded our lesson for the day. She was in an out-of bounds corridor. I do not know what her condition was at the time they encountered her—"

"And yet now she is fighting to live!" Godric yelled, pounding his fist on the table. "I do not believe a word of this, not one word! Your students attacked her!"

"Why would they attack her, Godric?" Salazar asked, arching one eyebrow.

"You!" Godric shouted. "You and your mania, your campaign for blood purity—you know the girl, you know who she is! A child of Muggles!"

"Godric, stop!" Helga barked. "You are making this worse!"

"That is not possible, Helga!" he retorted. He stormed forward, seizing Salazar by the front of his robes so suddenly that Salazar did not even have time to reach for his wand before he was slammed bodily against a bookcase. "We know you have lied to us—kept secrets—and we have allowed it! Wherever it is you go when you disappear, we do not question you! But now, the very thought that we allowed you to coerce us into allowing students to remain behind, only to be put in jeopardy by you—"

_BANG._

In an explosion of light, Godric was thrown off his feet, pitched across the office. Helga and Rowena drew their wands in a flash and rounded on Salazar.

"Do not make me do the same to you, my ladies," he said softly, his long, ebony-colored wand high as his sharp eyes flicked between them.

"You dare attack me? You _dare?"_ Godric roared, staggering to his feet. One hand groped at his belt, not for his wand, but for his sword—

"Save your breath, Godric," Salazar spat. "I am going, leaving this wretched school—I am tired of all of you—you wear out my patience, you disrespect me, and you disrespect the noble work that I and my family have striven for across generations! You are no better than those mud-slopping peasants who shunt their demented offspring among us, parading as wizards—"

A brilliant flash of silver and red darted through the air, and suddenly, the ruby-hilted sword was at Salazar's throat.

"Godric," Helga said warningly.

"Salazar, you are a fool," Rowena said angrily. "Do not do something more that you will regret."

"The only thing I regret, Rowena, is that I will be leaving before I have the chance to see you all crumble under your own stupidity," he hissed. His eyes flickered once again to Godric. "Fix the Mudblood, if you can, you oaf. I hope dearly that you cannot." And he spun and stormed from the room.

Godric held his sword aloft, still, staring blankly at the spot where Salazar had stood.

"Rowena, don't," Helga said, but Rowena was already out the door after Salazar, shouting furiously.

"SALAZAR! _SALAZAR!"_ she screamed, her voice disappearing deep into the castle..

Godric lowered the sword, sheathing it slowly and deliberately, and turned vacant-looking eyes on his wife. Helga had already pocketed her own wand and was staring just as blankly back at him.

"H-husband," she said quietly, "I—"

"Let the coward do what he likes. I must see to my student," he growled, and strode from the room. He paused, halfway down the staircase, and said, "Get that cretin out of this castle, Helga. I will not stand to see him here again."

And Helga was alone. She did not sit, but shook her head as though trying to clear it of water. She could still hear Rowena's shouting through the office's open door.

"SALAZAR! SALAZAR, COME BACK!"


	55. Ginny Weasley (2026)

So, being someone who is descended from a long line of daughters (number four, actually), I'm totally enamored of the Molly-Ginny-Lily relationship. It's just so cute, and I love imagining them driving each other crazy and making fun of each other and completely just baffling all the Weasley/Potter menfolk.

I mean come on.

Happy birthday, Ginny!

* * *

11 August 2026

"Ginny? I think you can let me dry that…Ginny?"

Ginny started and looked around at Molly, and then down at her own hands, which were deep in the sink full of soapy water. "Oh—here, Mum. Sorry."

Molly chuckled and took the plate. "That's all right, darling. Why don't you go outside? I'll finish up in here," she said, nodding out the kitchen window, where they could see the end of the large table where the family had all just eaten dinner. Harry and Ron were visible, talking with Bill under the summery, pinkish-gold sunset. Harry had his arm around Lily, who was resting against his shoulder.

"No," Ginny said, her eyes on the back of Lily's head. "I can help…"

Molly sighed and shook her head. She dried the plate with a flick of her wand and clanked it down loudly on top of the stack of clean dishes. Ginny looked around.

"Mum?"

"Sweetheart, it's happened," said Molly firmly, placing one hand on her hip. "It's happened, and you can't do a thing to change it for her." Ginny blinked. "You know what I'm talking about, don't look at me like that," she continued. "Lily has had a terrible accident—and that's it. Now she's on the mend, but as frustrating as it is, we can't change the fact that it happened."

Ginny looked down at the floor. "I know that," she said. "I do, I just…"

"It's hard to believe," Molly agreed, nodding sagely.

"You weren't there," Ginny said, shaking her head, "I—I've never been so scared in my whole life—I—we thought she was dead," she whispered. "They got the graphorn away, and she—she wasn't moving, and—the blood—"

Molly nodded slowly, repressing a surge of uncomfortably familiar feelings.

"How did you do it?" Ginny asked desperately. "How did you even let us out of the house?"

Molly smiled slightly and took her hand. "Come sit down, sweetheart. Let's have a talk."

Ginny sat down at the table and immediately covered her face with her hands. "I know I should be grateful," she mumbled. "And I am. But she—she's so different, now, she seems—I don't know, I think she's frightened." She looked up at Molly, her chin trembling. "Lily never used to be frightened of anything."

"She's not frightened," Molly promised her. "She's being cautious. She knows that winning the Tournament or not, she broke her word to you and Harry that she wouldn't enter—that means trouble and tension. Lily's always been very perceptive to anything like that; she's paying close attention to what her parents are saying and doing now that she's getting better and the Tournament is behind her."

"We don't care—"

"Well, she does," Molly said, "And if I were you, I'd take that as a good sign that she's still very much our Lily. She doesn't know her limits anymore, especially considering that _anyone's_ final year at Hogwarts is enough to turn their heads right around _without _a Triwizard Tournament. She's going through something completely normal that—well, you never went through it quite like she has, sweetheart."

Ginny blinked. "I had a last year at Hogwarts," she said quietly, but Molly squeezed her hand.

"Not like hers. And hers was _nothing_ like yours, I thank goodness for that," she said. "Now listen, darling—Lily is a perfectly wonderful girl who has had something traumatic happen to her. But she is going to be all right, and she'll get there with your help."

"I wish I knew _how_—" Ginny began.

"You'll find a way. Look at her," said Molly, pointing out the kitchen window again. Lily and Hugo were talking now, giggling like children. "She hasn't shut herself away. She's here with her family—willingly. She's well, and she's happy as she can be, given the circumstances." She touched Ginny's cheek. "And she has you and Harry to help her along when she needs it. If anyone can get that girl back to herself, it's you two."

"Was I as complicated as all this?" Ginny asked glumly, resting her chin in her hand as she gazed out the window at Lily.

"Much, much more so, darling," Molly assured her, chuckling. "Particularly on this day, about forty-five years ago…"

"Mum," Ginny groaned and rolled her eyes.

"I was _told_ to expect a boy, and then what do you suppose gets placed in my arms?" Molly laughed, and Ginny chuckled reluctantly as the back door opened. Lily appeared, looking concerned.

"Mum?" Lily's voice was a bit raspy, now; the large scar from the graphorn's tusk was visible along her neck, disappearing into the collar of her dress. It still drew Molly's eye, even after nearly two months—and she could see Ginny's gaze flicker on it too, for a moment. "Are you okay?" Lily asked.

"I'm fine, darling," Ginny said, getting up and coming to hug her. "Just visiting with _my_ Mum." She squeezed Lily tightly in her arms, and Lily caught Molly's eye over her shoulder, looking confused.

Molly smiled. "All right—out you go, Ginny. Lily's going to help me with your birthday cake."

"Oh, no—Mum, she's not supposed to lift anything," Ginny said at once. "The Healer—"

"Mum," Lily groaned and rolled her eyes.

Molly snorted behind her hand, and had to fake a small coughing fit before she could speak again. She stepped forward and put her arm around Lily's shoulders. "She's eighteen years old, Ginny, I'll let the girl use her wand," she scoffed, giving Ginny a little push in the small of her back. "Honestly. Now, out of my kitchen. I've outdone myself and I won't let you ruin the surprise." She caught Lily's eye and winked. Lily grinned.

"All right, I'm going, I'm going," Ginny said, heading for the door. She paused for only a moment and smoothed Lily's hair back behind her ear. "Dazzle me."

"I refuse," Lily joked, and Ginny smiled and disappeared out the door. Lily rounded on her grandmother. "So did you talk to her? Why's she been acting so weird?"

"She's your mother, that's why," Molly said, going to the cupboard. "Get the forks, sweetheart."

"Gran," Lily said, dragging her feet to the silverware drawer. "Please. I just—I need to know if she's—is she upset with me? Is she—is there something I can do to make her feel better?"

Molly straightened up, handing her a stack of dessert plates. "No, and no again."

"You know this is maddening, right?" Lily asked flatly.

Molly nodded, now heading for the pantry. "But one day, sweet girl, you might have a daughter—and let me tell you, this will _all_ become very clear to you, very quickly. And your mother and I will get a right old laugh out of it, too."

"That's completely dodging the subject," Lily informed her.

Molly smiled as she came out of the pantry with the cake—a large slab of chocolate iced in blue and silver. "Did I change the subject, darling? Oh, forgive me. I'm going a bit dotty in my old age."

"Very funny," Lily replied.

Molly flicked her wand; the cake rose off the countertop and hovered in front of her. "Come on, darling. Let's go wish her a happy birthday."

"Gran—just tell me this—is she okay?" Lily asked seriously, her eyes full of worry.

Molly paused and looked her straight in the eye. She put out a gentle hand and touched the side of Lily's scarred neck; Lily did not flinch, but turned a little pink. "She is much, much better than okay, darling."


	56. Fleur Delacour Weasley (2070)

*throws confetti and sunsparkles and a bunny rabbit or four*

I am in a mood of whimsy and cuteness.

WHIMSY AND CUTENESS BESTOWED UNTO YOU ALL ON THIS GLORIOUS DAY OF LATESUMMER! (Particularly keeptheotherone, who gave me this idea)

Happy birthday, Fleur! Enjoy your whimsy!

...

WHIMSY

* * *

20 August 2070

Shell Cottage was finally quieting down after a particularly happy birthday celebration for Fleur. Bill closed his eyes and sighed contentedly, settling down in his armchair; he could hear Fleur saying her goodbyes at the front door.

"Happy birthday, Mum," said Victoire. "Love you. I'll come by tomorrow to go to Diagon Alley?"

There was a pause; Bill smirked. He could almost feel Fleur's eyes on the back of his head. "Why don't you come ze day after? I think your fazzer might need a rest, after tonight," she chuckled. Bill snorted. He wouldn't mind turning in early, but for an entirely different reason than the one Fleur had in mind…

"I'll see you then," said Victoire's voice.

"Happy birthday, Fleur. I'll see you next week," called Teddy. It sounded like he was already in the front yard. Victoire had certainly inherited her mother's knack for saying the world's longest goodbyes.

"_Au revoir, mes enfants_," Fleur replied. She gave a silvery, sweet laugh, and shut the door. "All right," she said, her footsteps entering the sitting room, "You can stop pretending to be asleep, now. Zey 'ave gone 'ome."

Bill opened his eyes and smirked up at her as she settled on the armrest of his chair. "I'd never do that."

Fleur was ninety-three years old today, and they had just celebrated their seventy-third wedding anniversary, but Bill was fairly sure that she had stopped aging the moment they had married. Her hair was a different shade of silver, now, she wore glasses, and she carried a walking stick that matched his own, from time to time—but those were the only differences he could see.

"Of course you wouldn't," she replied, kissing the scars that were still clearly visible, slashed across his forehead. "Your fever is back, chére, 'ow do you feel?"

"I'm fine," he grumbled, pretending to bat her away. "It's the damn moon, that's all. Doesn't bother me."

"Let me bring you somezing," Fleur said, starting to get up.

"No," he said simply, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back down. She landed with a soft flump in his lap, rolled her eyes, and kissed him.

"You are going to break my 'ip, an old woman like me," she teased him.

"Come back here and we'll see who's an old woman," he muttered, kissing her again. The broke apart after several minutes, both beaming in a giggly, dazed sort of way. "Happy birthday, pretty girl," he said, grinning at her. She touched one of his scarred cheeks gently.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Bill frowned. "What is it?" he asked. "You've got your worried face on."

Fleur smiled and shook her head. "Not worried. I just…I was thinking of 'ow many of my birthdays we 'ave 'ad togezzer."

"I wouldn't, if I were you," he said seriously. She lifted her eyebrows. "Then you'll remember how old I am and run off with that wizard who works in Quality Quidditch Supplies." Fleur laughed. "I saw the way you were staring at him," Bill continued, filling his tone with injury and betrayal.

Fleur laid a hand dramatically on her chest. "I did not want for you to find out like zis." Bill chuckled and wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, and she leaned on his shoulder. "I was theenking," she said, drumming her fingers lightly on the back of his neck, "do you remember zat we found out I was going to 'ave Victoire, a few days before my birthday?"

"We decided on Dom's name around this time, too, after Mina died and we couldn't get you to the funeral," Bill nodded. They were both quiet for a long time. "Well, Louis must've done _something_ memorable," he added dismissively.

Fleur scoffed. "Enough out of you, old man." She kissed his head, smiled, and closed her eyes, curling up against his shoulder. "I theenk I am the one 'oo needs some time to rest," she murmured with a little laugh.

"Think you can manage a walk outside?" Bill asked, and Fleur opened her eyes. "I have your present ready."

"You were not supposed to get me anything," she told him. "Ze 'oliday in Greece…"

"Is for our anniversary," Bill insisted. "You deserve a birthday gift, too. Come on, get up, pretty girl."

"Bill," she said, though she was already starting to stand—neither of them had reckoned on sitting in that uncomfortable position, and so were both stuck for a moment—but, laughing, they got each other on their feet. Hand in hand, Bill led her to the front door and out to the garden.

The sun was setting earlier and earlier now that it was getting close to autumn, so the whole garden was bathed in a fiery-gold glow from the horizon. The ocean could be heard crashing in the distance, and a soft breeze blew over their faces. Bill looked around at Fleur, who had come to a stop and closed her eyes again. She was lit up by the sun, and looked ready to launch into flight on the wind. At last, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"All right," she said.

"It's not much," he said honestly. "But I wanted you out here, to see it." She nodded and allowed Bill to lead her around the back of the house, where a sprawling willow tree, one that he had planted ages and ages ago, had grown handsomely to embrace the back of Shell Cottage with its long tendrils of leaves. He pointed at its thick trunk. "Take a look."

Fleur frowned and got closer to the tree, which had carvings in its trunk. "Bill…and Fleur," she read. "Victoire…Louis…Dominique…" she looked around at Bill. "…A family tree?" she asked, with a little laugh.

Bill grinned. "Remember my mother's clock? That's what gave me the idea." He stepped forward and put his hand on the bark. "Everyone here, accounted for…no matter what. We can leave the house to the kids, or not, and this'll just stay here." Fleur blinked quickly, and threw her arms around him.

"You are," she said, smiling as she brought their foreheads together, "Ze sweetest man I 'ave ever married. I'm so glad I agreed to zat date." Bill grinned broadly, as the breeze blew Fleur's hair into his face and he caught her sweet, familiar smell. She pulled back, still holding his hand.

"Well, too late to back out now," he shrugged.

"Thank you," she said earnestly.

"I'm glad you like it."

"Not just for ze tree. For everything—ze 'ouse, ze children. For our lives."

Bill smiled. "Fleur, you…get so _soppy_ on your birthday, _honestly."_

And Fleur burst out laughing.

She was ninety-three years old today, and they had been married seventy-three years. Fleur's hair was a different shade of silver, now, she wore glasses, and she carried a walking stick just like his—but when she was happy, like she was now, she radiated light, and the years were gone.


	57. Percy Weasley (1998)

So once again, this took off in a completely unanticipated direction. Props to my *own* Mama Weasley for Arthur's gift idea.

I think that for "that summer," out of all of her children - not that she plays favorites or over-coddles any of them, because she doesn't, really - Molly made the biggest effort for Percy. Just my two cents.

In other news, I'm trying to see which one of my stories is going to hit 1,000 reviews first. It's either going to be this one (standing strong at 779 with mny more chapters to go), "Oh, Harry" (847), "Honestly, Ronald" (732), or "A Call to Arms" (835). Prizes (likely a story of your choosing) and eternal love to the reviewer who puts me over the top! I've never had 1,000 on a single story before! (Short form: I have no shame; allow me to comfort myself with a delicious snack of your reviews).

* * *

22 August 1998

"So." Percy started and looked around. His mother stood in the kitchen doorway, her arms folded. "I thought you weren't staying the night."

Percy looked down at the mug of tea he held between his hands. "I thought you went to bed."

"I'm a light sleeper," Mum said, her eyes narrowed on him.

"Ginny just went up," Percy explained. "We were having tea." He gave her a smile. "I'll head home now."

"Your room is all ready for you," she said. "Why don't you sleep here?"

Percy shook his head. "No, thanks…I don't want to be in the way."

"Percy," Mum said slowly.

"I'm fine, Mum," he said, giving her a bigger grin. He stood up, put his mug in the sink, and went to hug her. "I've got to head out, anyhow. Thanks for the cake and everything, it was a great dinner—I'll see you this weekend—"

"Percy Weasley, do not walk out that door."

Mum's voice was sharp, but not cold. He turned around and looked her in the eye.

"Mum," he said anxiously, "I—I've got to—"

"I love you, darling. Do you know that?" she asked. Percy blinked. "You know how much I love you? And your father, and your brothers, and your sister? How much—" she swallowed, "—how much it means to us all, that we got to have your birthday with you?"

Percy's heart sank, and he looked away, staring down at the floor.

"I'm not saying this to make you feel bad," she continued calmly. "I'm saying it because it's the truth. It's so wonderful to have you back, Percy." He chanced a look up; there were tears in her eyes, but she smiled at him. "And I'm proud of you. You're even braver than I knew you were."

When Percy trusted himself to speak again, his voice was very low. "I…it was nice…to get a card that—that more than one of you signed," he admitted. Mum's smile wavered for a moment. "I haven't thanked you for the ones you sent me. They…meant a lot."

She sighed and blinked quickly. "I'm your mother. Your birthday—that's _our_ special day, darling. Not just yours. It's mine, too. I would never leave you without anything at all. I—" her voice cracked slightly, "—I'm just glad that—you opened them."

Percy managed half a smile.

"I have a gift for you, sweetheart—I didn't want you to have to open it in front of everyone," she said, crossing to the scullery and disappearing inside. She reappeared a moment later, carrying a medium-sized bag. "These are…well, they're your sweaters. Three of them." Mum blushed and held the bag out to him.

Percy took it, feeling rather weak at the knees. "You…really thought I'd come back."

"I knew you would," Mum told him, brushing her hand fondly through his hair. "You're my clever boy."

And Percy wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her so tightly that he heard her give a wheezy little chuckle as she patted him on the back. "Well," he said, pulling back at last, "that effectively demolished any plans I had to get you a spectacular birthday gift." He chuckled, removing his glasses and wiping them.

Mum laughed, too, wiping her own cheeks with a hanky before drying Percy's. "I'll tell you what, darling—you talk your father out of that ridiculous—what was it?—_athletic cat openings,_ or whatever it is he wants to buy for me, and we'll call it even."

Percy snorted and hugged her again. "All right, agreed. No electric can openers."

"That's the one," Mum said softly, kissing his cheek.


	58. Seamus Finnigan (1998)

So - and I have no idea why - writing Seamus's birthday was insanely difficult. Hope you like! Still waiting for review #1000! (This, Oh Harry, Honestly Ronald, or A Call to Arms. Who's it gonna be? OH is in the lead, but ACtA is only trailing by four...)

Teehee I'm evil and needy. BUT I LOVE YOU ALL AND THAT COUNTS FOR A LOT, RIGHT?!

* * *

25 August 1998

Seamus dragged his feet, slowly meandering between the bookshelves of Flourish and Blotts. He looked at his watch; getting in and out of Gringotts had taken a lot less time than he had anticipated. It would be still another half-hour before Dean met him at the Leaky Cauldron.

He rounded the corner of the Semi-Toxic Botany shelf, thinking of finding a book on Magical Creatures that he could read to pass the time, when he walked straight into the back of someone.

"Ouch!"

"Agh—sorry, sorry—you—oh, Lavender," Seamus said brightly, as she turned around. "What are you doing here?"

Lavender gave half a smile—it was really all she could manage, the side of her face was so badly scarred from Fenrir Greyback's attack—and rubbed her elbow where Seamus had bumped it. "Hi, Seamus. Just doing some school shopping." She held up the piece of parchment with her list on it. "What are you up to?"

"Er—well, I should probably be doing that," he laughed, and Lavender snorted. "It's my birthday. I'm meeting Dean for a drink."

Lavender's eyebrows shot up, disappearing into her fringe. "Dean?" she asked. "He's back? I'd heard…"

"Yeah, his mum—well, I guess she and his stepdad didn't want to move after all. And, you know, his little sisters—they're not witches, so I guess they figured Dean could do his last year and they could move later, if they still wanted to," Seamus said.

"So he's coming back to Hogwarts?" Lavender asked, her eyes lighting up—then she blushed pink. "I—that's really cool. That'll be nice, having him around. A-and you, too."

"Yeah," Seamus said slowly, trying not to smirk. "Should be an okay year. But anything will beat last year, right?"

"Right," said Lavender, going even pinker; she reached up a hand and scratched absently at one of the scars on her temple—the ones on her hand and wrist became visible as he sleeve slipped back. Seamus could have kicked himself, but she seemed aware of him looking, and so quickly put her hand behind her back. "So you're coming back, too? I would have thought…"

"Yeah, I didn't really want to, but…well, my Dad said I had to finish," he shrugged. "Go figure, right?"

Lavender nodded. "It's good he cares, though. Erm…well—nice to see you, Seamus. I'll—tell Dean I said hi, all right? I'll see you on the train. Oh—happy birthday."

And she turned and walked away quickly, hurrying off down the shelves. Seamus felt another flicker of guilt. It wasn't often that Lavender was alone, in his experience—but he knew that Parvati had been worried about her, or at least she had said so at Harry's birthday party a month ago.

And, tapping into that unspoken connection that now bound him to everyone he had fought alongside all those weeks ago, Seamus called, "Lavender! You fancy meeting up here, say the day after tomorrow?"

She turned, looking very surprised. "Erm…"

Seamus shrugged slightly. "We could all get our stuff for school together. You can bring Parvati."

"I…I'd love that," she said, her half-smile appearing again. "Yes, I—let's do that."

He nodded. "I'll tell Dean you're in." He paused for a moment, hesitating. It wasn't a lie, not if he guessed from the way Dean had been acting, but… "I'll bet he'd definitely say yes to that."

Lavender's eyes couldn't have gone any brighter. She beamed at Seamus. "All right. We'll see you at the Leaky Cauldron on Sunday."

"See you then," Seamus said, giving her a wave, and she walked away. He looked down at his watch. He could probably just go to the Leaky Cauldron now and wait for Dean. So Seamus, too, left Flourish and Blotts, wondering how many bottles of firewhisky it would take for Dean to forgive him for setting him up on a not-quite-a-date—even if it was with a girl he liked.


End file.
